Fire and Ice
by familiarterritory
Summary: Twelve year-old Cassandra Taylor is a certified genius. Her post-apocalyptic guardian Anna is certified crazy. Or so Daryl Dixon believes. Very eventual Daryl/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Walking Dead. **

**This story takes place in between seasons 2 and 3.**

* * *

It was sweltering. Heat rose up from the asphalt, distorting the road ahead of him. That morning had been so cold that the group breathed white clouds while shuffling around their cars sleepily. Now, in the afternoon, the sun powered through the thick haze that kept them chilly in the morning.

Indian Summer in Georgia. The last heat wave of the year before the frost set in. It was sweating weather.

But Daryl barely had time to sweat. He revved his engine and raised his hand up, gesturing for the car behind him to turn left onto a smaller, backwoods highway. It followed close behind him for another few minutes—uphill, Daryl noted with annoyance; it would burn up their gas faster—before he skidded to a halt on the gravel shoulder.

He shifted his crossbow to a more comfortable spot on his back, checking over the canvas quiver of bolts to make sure he didn't lose any on the trip. Rick opened the driver's side door, his mouth a grim line and his eyes darting around at the walls of forest on both sides for creeping walkers. Maggie hopped out of the shotgun seat and helped Glenn grab their weapons out of the back of the car. They were mostly melee tools—a machete, a crowbar, several long hunting knives that were too inconvenient to carry around all of the time.

The two of them kept an eye out so that they wouldn't be caught unawares, like they'd been so many times before. T-Dog spread out a map on the hood of the Hyundai, using his Ladysmith as some kind of post-apocalyptic paperweight, and Rick and Daryl came over to scan the map for the hundredth time.

"This is where we turned off," Rick drawled, jabbing a dirt-covered finger at a thin yellow line on the map, sounding even more tired than usual. Though that might have been the humidity slowing his words before they hit Daryl's ears.

He exhaled through his teeth, dragging his finger further up the yellow line to a web of tiny black lines, "And this is Dawson."

"We go there as a last resort," Glenn tossed over his shoulder. Rick nodded his assent, though somewhat absently. Daryl had to restrain himself from grabbing the man by the shoulders and shaking him until all the crazy fell out of his ears. Ever since the farm, and Shane's death, Rick hadn't been on his A-game, which would have been alright if the group wasn't on the run from blood-thirsty monsters and the coming winter.

"We just gotta go up this hill for a mile," Daryl said, pointing to the jagged brown line on the map and up the untraveled highway ahead of them simultaneously. "There'll be a main street for a place called Mulberry or some shit."

Rick nodded his head at T-Dog, signaling him to fold up the map and stuff it into his jeans' front pocket, waved Maggie and Glenn forward. They danced over, obviously nervous. Their group hadn't had very good luck, not since they'd found Hershel and his family at the farm. And even that should be considered a stroke of more bad luck; the only reason they ran into them was because Otis shot Carl and Sophia went missing.

"Now I know that you're all tired," Rick started, sounding a bit more like his usual, inspirational self. "And I know that you're hungry."

Daryl was sure that each of their stomachs took that moment to growl in unison. He felt the back of his neck flush in frustration and just a little bit of shame—after all, he was their unofficial hunter-gatherer and he hadn't been able to catch more than a few rodents in the past week. He watched as Carl and Beth grew gaunter and paler as the days went on and there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

Most of the group was also worried about Lori. Some nights they all went hungry, of course, but only Lori had to worry about another person living inside of her. Daryl had noticed some of the others—mostly Carol and Rick—shifting some of their rations onto Lori's plate when Lori was occupied elsewhere.

Rick continued, snapping Daryl out of his shame spiral, "But if this run goes well…"

"When," interrupted T-Dog. The others stared at him. He shrugged, "Positive thinking can go a long way, y'all." Daryl rolled his eyes.

"_When _this run goes well," Rick emphasized, checking T-Dog's satisfied expression for approval before going on, "we'll have food in our stomachs and enough for the others back at camp. So, let's get this done fast."

They quickly agreed. Maggie, Glenn, and T-Dog yanked empty backpacks over their shoulders, ready to be filled. Then they took off up the hill, towards the place called Mulberry.

"Why…" Glenn panted after only five minutes of jogging on a gentle incline, "did…we…drive…_up_…the mountains…again?"

"Not as many people live in the mountains," Daryl huffed, not quite as winded as the Asian boy but sweating a great deal more than he was comfortable with. "Less likely that there'll be walkers."

"I think…" T-Dog gasped, "I'd rather…take on…a herd of walkers…"

"Quiet," Rick rasped back to them, effectively silencing Glenn and T-Dog's bitching. Daryl was glad for it; not only because their complaints were loud enough to be heard by nearby walkers, but because he hated hearing them whine about something or other. Yeah, it was hot. Yeah, running uphill sucked. What could you do about it?

Mulberry was basically Main Street with a few dirt paths that led further up the mountainside. It must've been a town for hikers to pick up supplies before they set off on their journeys, Daryl figured. Back before the world went to hell in a hand-basket, he'd scoffed at the rich folk who liked to "rough it" by carrying around an entire year's salary worth of tents, sleeping bags, state of the art ass-wipers or whatever the hell they had for pussies. But now, he had to thank God for those pussies, because without those snotty Yankees, there wouldn't be places like Mulberry for them to ransack.

Daryl noted a pharmacy, a book store, a convenience store, and a small clothing boutique. "Only gotta hit the pharmacy and the 7-11 on this side," Daryl said, shifting the bow a bit on his back. Maggie shook her head a little.

"We're gonna need warmer clothes for the winter," she stated, glancing down the street they came from. Before they'd left, Daryl had seen Beth shivering in her sleeveless shirt. Even he wouldn't mind wearing sleeves now that the days were shorter and colder. "I'll go; I know everybody's sizes."

"Alright, then. Daryl, you and Maggie check out the north side," Rick pointed to the stores on the north side of the street. "T-Dog, Glenn, and I will handle the general store on the south side."

Glenn opened his mouth to protest—he was obviously not alright with being separated from Maggie—but Rick had already walked off. Out of instinct, Glenn looked to the next in charge: Daryl.

"Don' look at me, man," he said, shrugging and motioning for Maggie to follow across the street. He didn't have to look to know that Glenn and Maggie were probably making out in the middle of the street, because it seemed like every time they were together and Hershel wasn't around, they were playing tonsil hockey.

After a moment, Maggie popped up beside him. "Ready," she chirped.

"Well, alert the fuckin' media," he muttered under his breath, but by the way Maggie glared at him, he was sure she heard him. _Whatever_. Someone was always glaring at him for something insensitive he said.

They crept up the sidewalk beside the 7-11, Daryl just ahead of Maggie with his crossbow at the ready. He motioned to her to pry open the glass sliding doors that were usually automatic but had long since lost power. Using the machete at her waist as a crowbar, she slowly opened the door while Daryl kept an eye out for walkers.

She nodded to him once it was open. He nodded back and ducked inside, she right on his heels.

Immediately on their left, there was a walker that had been slumped down behind the counter. It stood when it heard the door scrape open, albeit very shakily. Daryl hadn't seen that before. It was like the walker was _tired_. Walkers didn't get tired, though.

He and Maggie exchanged confused glances before he lifted his bow and put a bolt through its brain. "Asshole," he muttered under his breath.

"That was weird," Maggie whispered. He shrugged in response. He would bring it to Rick's attention when he had the time, but for now, his number one priority was fast food.

Unfortunately and strangely, the convenience store was clean. Well, clean was a misleading word—there were too many shattered pieces of glass and spatters of walker blood to be called "clean"; it was bare. The metal shelves boasted no bags of chips, no bars of candy, no molding pastries in plastic containers. Daryl almost kicked down a row of shelves in anger.

"There ain't anything here," Maggie muttered, picking up a chip bag that had been emptied already. "Do you think it got cleared out before everything?" "Before everything" meant before walkers ruled the world.

Daryl shook his head. "Who gives a shit; it's empty."

Maggie didn't like his answer. Frowning, she replied, "What if the rest of the town is like this?"

"Let's just worry 'bout this place 'fore we start jumping to conclusions," he replied, though he had the same fear.

* * *

They combed the entire store and the only thing they found was an obese rat without its head and one rotting Twinkie out of its wrapper. Daryl had not been amused when Maggie told him that she'd won a bet against T-Dog; T subscribed to the belief that Twinkies lasted forever.

Apparently, Daryl didn't believe in gambling, no matter how innocuous. He'd rolled his eyes and shook his head. After several minutes of muttering under his breath, he'd said, "Let's hit the pharmacy; this is a fuckin' bust."

By his tone, she realized how disappointed he'd been by this run so far. He probably felt responsible for their hunger; he hadn't been able to catch very much recently and it frustrated him. She didn't understand how he could place their group's wellbeing entirely on his own shoulders, but he did and he did it without asking for any gratitude. She didn't know how he could deal with the responsibility.

The pharmacy had been even less promising. Only a half empty box of Band-Aids and a few other things that were of little use to them remained in front of the counter. Behind the counter was worse; there had been no painkillers, not even the weakest stuff. Only a few containers of Viagra and Benzodiazepines sat on the shelves, much to Daryl's anger and Maggie's disappointment.

"Man, this town's been stripped," Daryl had growled, throwing a bottle of Alprazolam across the room. Maggie had flinched when it hit the wall with a loud rattle. "Long time ago, probably."

"Let's check the clothing store anyway," Maggie had suggested carefully, so as to placate Daryl's fury. "I doubt that's been mined yet."

Daryl had stood seething in silence for so long that Maggie had called his name quietly, "Daryl?" Finally, he nodded, pushing past her without a word.

As they were leaving, a small untouched shelf had caught her eye. She's whistled lowly to Daryl for him to halt, stepping closer to inspect them. Her eyes had widened when she saw them.

"Prenatal vitamins," she'd said, a grin spreading across her face. She'd opened up the empty pack on her back and swept her arm across the shelf, shoving the bottles into her bag. "Guess these aren't exactly in high demand."

Daryl had snorted as she straightened up, readjusting her pack. "Probably 'cause no one's that goddamn stupid."

She'd given him a disapproving look, but hadn't disagreed. They loved Lori and they'd die for her, but everyone was pretty much in agreement about her pregnancy: it was irresponsible and dangerous. Still, it wasn't like there was much anyone could do about it now, so they tried to keep Lori as fed and comfortable as possible.

When Daryl had pushed open the door of the clothing boutique, Maggie was hopeful. No one thinks about how important warm clothing was for the winter—though, to be fair, the turn had occurred in the heat of summer, so carrying around cold-weather clothing would have been downright foolish. So when they'd crept into the shop and seen how filled to the brim with clothes, Maggie heaved a sigh of relief.

"Daryl, you should get a warmer jacket or something," she whispered, palming her machete nervously. They hadn't completely checked out the store; it might have been completely filled with walkers. "Get stuff for the other guys as well."

"Do I look like I know what fits them?" he deadpanned, nevertheless wandering over to the men's section, which was a little further from her than she was comfortable with.

The shop was strangely large, two big rooms to house all of the clothes. Men's clothes were at the front, women's in the back, and fitting rooms behind that. Maggie kept her machete out as she entered the women's section, prepared for anything that came out at her.

Except for _that_.

Huge piles of supplies; they looked like everything the small town had to offer had been transported to the boutique. Why hadn't anyone taken them?

Just as she started towards the piles, she froze when she heard the click of the safety being turned off on a handgun.

"That's far enough, Rambo." Raising her hands, she inched around to stare down the barrel of a Beretta M9. On the other end of it was a woman younger than herself—maybe 18 or 19?— looking as tired and dirty as she imagined she would look if she saw herself in a mirror.

Maggie breathed a little shallower and quieter, as if that would calm the gunslinger somewhat. "I don't want any trouble…" she said quietly. _Where the fuck is Daryl?_ She screamed internally, annoyed that the one time she wouldn't really mind him skulking around and shooting off snarky comments, he was nowhere to be found. They'd assumed that the worst thing they could run into was a walker and Maggie had gotten pretty good at dispatching those on her own.

It seemed foolish now to assume that they wouldn't run across any living people. After all, Glenn and the others had found the Greenes, and together they'd run across Randall and his group.

"Neither do I," the woman said, though she didn't loosen her grip on the gun at all. "That's why you're gonna walk out of here and tell the rest of your group that you didn't find anything in here. I've got snipers on your people right now, so don't even think about telling them anything else."

Cold rushed over her body at that news. This woman's group must have ID'ed them the moment they walked into town. There could very likely be a gun on every head in her group right now.

But…

The piles of supplies called to her; large cardboard boxes filled to the brim bottles of painkillers, bandages, ointments, gauze, and other sterile equipment. And what they really needed was there too: food. Cereal boxes, bags of chips, cans of soup, dried fruit, jerky, granola, juice; hell, Maggie thought she spotted a bottle of whiskey that she wouldn't mind taking a swig of right now. If she walked away without even trying to get the supplies, they might be out of luck for a long while, no telling how long either.

"Look, I don't know how many people you've got in your group," Maggie started. The woman didn't move, but her eyes darted up and behind Maggie, probably making sure she wasn't about to be interrupted by a pack of walkers. "But we need food and medicine. And it looks like y'all got a lot to spare."

"You best be on your way," the woman advised in a way that told Maggie that there wasn't a rational discussion to be had. But even though her tone suggested that she was two seconds from pulling the trigger, her eyes shone in desperation. Maggie was almost certain that the woman wasn't very trigger-happy. But she didn't want to test that theory out.

"Th' fuck?" Daryl—_finally_, Maggie thought—stalked in with that cat-like grace that only natural hunters had, saw the stalemate, and immediately raised his bow at the belligerent woman's heart.

By the way she jumped and whirled around, it was obvious that she didn't hear him come in. Maggie took that opportunity to pull out the Glock that Glenn had stuffed in the waistband of her jeans when they kissed goodbye and aim it at the woman's head.

"Put the gun down, lil' girl," Daryl barked.

She stood her ground for a moment, her hazel eyes opened fractionally wider in panic. Briefly, Maggie was afraid the woman's finger would twitch onto the trigger in her distress. But then she raised her hands up, like she had made Maggie do, and slowly placed the gun on the ground. Daryl narrowed his eyes at her. Rolling her eyes and huffing in poorly concealed frustration, she kicked the firearm towards them and out of her reach.

"She said her group had snipers on ours," Maggie panted, releasing a breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding the whole time.

"Hey, if you don' wanna die right here and now, you better tell your people to get th' fuck outta here," he growled and for a second, Maggie was certain he was going to send a bolt through her heart. She couldn't honestly say she would be surprised. It only took the threat of Randall's group attacking them back at the farm to make Daryl beat the shit out of the kid. Maggie wasn't sure if he'd hold back just because this time the threat was a woman.

"If _you _don't want to die, you'll get _your_ people out of here," she hissed back. Maggie faltered a little at her venom, but Daryl didn't even flinch. "This is _our _town—_we_ did all the heavy lifting and like hell I'm gonna let the great white hunter and his posse take what's ours!"

"Let's just calm down, alright?" Maggie asked soothingly, sensing that the situation was spiraling out of control. She was also now 80 percent sure that Daryl was two seconds from forgoing his crossbow and blowing the woman's brains out with his gun. "Can we please work something out?"

"No!" They both yelled at her. She might've laughed if she was sure she'd see her family ever again.

Maggie lowered her gun and hissed to Daryl under her breath, "Some supplies are better than no supplies and no supplies are better than casualties."

"Or I could put a bolt in her brain and take everything," he replied stonily. Maggie didn't know Daryl very well, but she knew that was the last thing he wanted to do. She could tell that shooting a scared girl in cold blood wouldn't sit right with him.

"Our people are being targeted right now!"

Daryl's eyes snapped from the woman to Maggie's face. "She's _lyin'_."

"Are you willing to bet their lives on that?" she asked stubbornly. Sure, she might be bluffing and they could just be on their way.

But if she wasn't…Glenn, T-Dog, and Rick would be dead and she just couldn't fathom that thought.

Maggie never got to hear his reply as something quick and small rammed into the back of her knees, making her collapse into a heap on the floor. Beside her, she heard Daryl swear loudly when he got the same treatment. She scrambled to get up—a difficult feat to attempt when you felt like a javelin just speared your kneecap—but when she flipped over, there was that Beretta in her face once again.

"What th'…" Daryl mumbled.

"You leave in the next ten seconds and I won't shoot you, does that sound fair?" the snarling woman behind the gun asked. Over Daryl, Maggie started at the sight of a little girl, no older than Carl, pointing a pistol at his head. Daryl appeared to be just as surprised and a thousand times more unwilling to retaliate now that there was a kid involved.

The glass doors at the front slammed open and Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog came stomping into the shop, catching a glimpse of the scene. They stood in silence, staring for the briefest moment. Then, several things happened all at once.

Rick blasted his revolver at the woman who'd immediately shuffled and ducked when the door opened. She wasn't quite fast enough to dodge the bullet—it ripped through her left arm. But she was lucky— Maggie knew that Rick never aimed to wound. She cried out in pain and knelt down involuntarily. The little girl leapt over Maggie to kneel beside her injured friend.

"Don't!" she yelled at Rick, whose features were stricken with confusion. Then, T-Dog called to them, "Walkers!"

Maggie groaned. As if their day wasn't going badly enough already. Rick and T-Dog secured the door just in time for a few walkers to slam up against them, their rotting teeth grinding against the glass. Glenn rushed to her side and helped her up. "Are you ok?"

She nodded. "Fine." She nodded her head over at the moaning horde outside of the boutique. "Now what?"

"Is there any other way out of here?" Rick asked Daryl, who kept himself occupied by watching the young girl sluice water through the woman's gunshot wound.

"Dunno. Didn' have time to get a good look aroun'," he growled, jerking his head in their direction. Rick nodded absently, staring out at the walkers. He ran his hand through his hair before shoving his revolver back into its holster at his hip.

Then he stalked over to the girls. Valiantly, the woman tried to get up and corral the little girl behind her. But she didn't look too threatening with blood pouring out of her arm and her face paling rapidly.

"How many of you are there?" he asked. She glared back at him, the only movement on her face made by her pursed lips. He kicked their dropped firearms towards Daryl as he harshly repeated the question, "How _many_ of you are there?"

She stayed silent until at last, she broke their eye contact to glance at a frilly pink dress on a rack behind Glenn. "It's just us."

Maggie could almost feel Daryl's quietly smug stare from where she was standing. _Told ya she was lyin'_, it said. She rolled her eyes.

"You wanna tell me why you threatened my people?" Rick asked, in a way that seemed like an angry father scolding his children for playing baseball in the house.

She didn't answer this time. Rick—to his credit, and everyone else's annoyance—waited a good two minutes before sighing and saying, "My name is Rick Grimes."

There was another pregnant pause in which Maggie thought the woman would grab a stiletto heel and beat the crap out of the cop. Then the little girl, who they'd almost forgotten was there, stepped out from behind the woman and held her hand out. "I'm Cassie."

Rick took it, a little bemused at the girl's out of place maturity. "Nice to meet you, Cassie."

* * *

Daryl would've guessed that the little girl was younger than Carl, but she might've looked young for her age. Her eyes were large and doe-like, set in a dark-skinned face with high cheekbones. The woman had surprisingly soft features, with wide hazel eyes, tanned skin, and shoulder-length brown hair. Neither of them looked particularly well-fed, but they seemed to be doing a hell of a lot better than most of their group was doing.

With her hand still holding her bleeding arm, the woman offered, "Anna." Rick nodded to her a little more stiffly than he had with the little girl.

A loud bang against the glass had them all jumping in surprise. "Yeah, can we save introductions for when we're _not _about to get eaten?" Glenn cut in.

"Is there any other way out of here?" Rick asked. Cassie scuttled over to the boxes with the medical supplies and rummaged around for a needle and some surgical thread. Anna sat down heavily, nodding.

"There's a door down by the manager's office," she started, wincing a little when Cassie began stitching up her wounds. Though no one said anything, their entire group was more than a little disturbed that this pint-sized girl with big eyes was sewing up her guardian's flesh like it was just another Wednesday. Even the seasoned 'medics' in their group still grimaced at the sight of their own blood. "But it's padlocked."

"We didn't really see a need to get it open before," Cassie continued, pausing only a moment to stare at the gun in Rick's holster. He shifted uncomfortably.

"How're we gonna get it off?" Daryl asked lowly, never taking one eye off of the perpetually hungry geeks outside. It was only a matter of time before they broke through the glass and Daryl sure as hell didn't want to be here when they did.

"Do you have bolt-cutters?" T-Dog blurted out. Cassie and Anna turned to him with uncannily similar expressions.

"Yeah, they're right here in my pocket," Cassie deadpanned. Glenn snorted a laugh, but quickly sobered when the rest of his group turned to glare at him. He cleared his throat.

"Sorry."

Daryl growled, "We're gonna have ta shoot it."

"That'll attract the walkers to the back," Rick said, scratching furiously at his chin with a grimy hand. "We might not all make it back to the cars. Plus, those walkers are gonna follow us…" he glanced at his people with a meaningful look. They all understood immediately. If the walkers followed them far enough, they ran the risk of coming into their camp. But Rick didn't want these strangers to know anything, not even the general direction, about camp.

Cassie scoffed, finishing up her stitching by clipping excess thread with a pocket knife. She grabbed a roll of bandages and started wrapping it around Anna's arm. "Unless one of you can walk through walls, you only have two options: the front or the back."

One of the window panes cracked under the pressure of twenty ravenous walkers. Daryl knew that the doors wouldn't hold much longer. "We're jus' gonna have ta make a run for it."

"Or," Anna suggested quietly, "We could take the front _and _the back." She stood up and went to pick up her gun from where Rick had kicked it over to Daryl. Once it was back in the holster at her side, she flicked her head over at Cassie, who seemed to immediately know what she was thinking and grabbed two big packs resting by the pile of food. She then picked up a black metal recurve bow that looked enormous in her arms along with a canvas quiver filled with a mix of wood and metal arrows that she immediately clipped to her belt.

"Which one of you is the fastest?" she asked quietly, staring at each of them for a few uncomfortable seconds.

Well, no solid plan ever began with that question. Not liking where this was going, they all stayed silent for a moment, shooting each other uneasy looks. In that time, Cassie handed Anna the larger bag before shouldering the other. Anna winced when she took the bow with her good arm.

Then Glenn raised his hand slowly.

"I'm pretty fast," he offered. Maggie opened her mouth to protest but Glenn cut in before she could say anything, "Just…tell me what the plan is."

Anna nodded. "Our car is up the highway a ways. About two miles...?" she glanced at Cassie who nodded in confirmation. "You'll shoot the lock off of the door. The biters will follow the sound— you lead them away, towards our car. Once you get to the truck, there's another way back to town—it takes you on some back roads, but it spits you out about three or four miles south of here."

Daryl almost snarled at her plan. "Tha's the stupides' plan I've ever heard." Maggie nodded violently.

"He doesn't know the way!" she exclaimed over the increasingly frantic groans of the walkers.

"Cassie does," she explained, glancing over at the little girl. "She'll go with him and guide him back to you."

"She's a child!" Rick seethed as the others looked at the little girl with uncomfortable stares. Glenn just looked a little nauseous. If Daryl was in Glenn's place, he'd be feeling just as nervous—first off, the kid was a kid and probably didn't have the survival experience that they needed. From Daryl's limited experience with children—that is, Carl and Sophia—kids could never listen to instructions when it mattered most.

And second off, if this kid was going with Glenn, then Glenn would be responsible for her safety. And nowadays, you just couldn't guarantee someone's safety. They'd all learned the hard way with Sophia.

"I'm twelve," Cassie muttered, already pulling a pistol from her pack and sliding it into the back of her waistband. She tossed her bag over to Anna without question.

Daryl rolled his eyes at them. "Yeah, let's have a _twelve-year-old_ run out there with them flesh-eatin' bastards."

"She knows the way," Anna repeated firmly, ignoring Daryl's skeptical remark. "She'll get him back safe. Besides, I don't know if you noticed, but those biters out there aren't exactly in tip-top shape."

All of their eyes shot to the front of the store where the dead stared at them with milky eyes. They were riled up from the thought of a meal, but they were a lot stiffer than the walkers they'd come across in the past. They pushed at the glass more feebly and dragged themselves from one end of the entrance to the other at an almost leisurely pace.

"And what about us?" T-Dog asked wearily, gathering all of their attentions again. "Did you make sure we had an exit strategy, or are we gonna stay put and hope those walkers ain't feeling too hungry?"

"When the walkers are distracted by the gun shot, we run out the front," she explained. "We'll run to your cars or whatever and wait at the end of the road for Cassie and your man."

"You could be leading us into a trap," Rick rumbled. They didn't know for sure if there were any more in their group; she could have been lying about lying. But the way the two interacted—especially how the woman made sure she kept her body between any of them and the kid—told Daryl that they wouldn't last too long with a group.

Cassie glared while Anna just stared stonily at him. "We're not lying!" Cassie said hotly, ignoring Anna's placating hand on her shoulder.

"Do you have any other options?" she asked Rick quietly. He was silent.

Glenn interjected, albeit shakily, "We'll take our chances. We don't have a choice."

Daryl repeated, "This is not a good idea." Anna rolled her eyes at him.

"I don't hear you bringing anything to the table, so unless one of your snarky little comments can double as a grenade launcher, I suggest you keep your goddamn mouth shut!" she snapped. Glenn, Maggie, and T-Dog gaped at her. "Are there any questions?"

When no one answered, she said, "Good," in such a self-righteous way that despite the severity of their predicament, Daryl kind of wanted to slap her. "If you want any of the supplies we gathered, you better take some now." Maggie, Glenn, and T-Dog immediately dove for the food pile.

"Ya ain't gonna be able to run with all of that," Daryl said gruffly, nodding at the bulky cans of soup they stuffed into their bags. "Go for the light stuff."

They nodded slowly and went to the medical supply pile, though Daryl saw Maggie and T-Dog split open a bag of tortilla chips and stuff a few in their mouths. Daryl's stomach grumbled at the sight. The three of them grabbed the stuff they were always in short supply of: surgical sutures, bandages, gauze, antibiotics, painkillers, and isopropyl alcohol.

Daryl sidled up next to Rick, who kept his mouth shut, something Daryl found simultaneously odd and normal. Ever since they'd left the farm, Rick had been a little off. Probably had something to do with the fact that he had to shank his best friend after he tried to kill him. But that didn't mean that he wasn't the leader anymore, because he still made time to get into everyone's business. It was something he admired and found extremely annoying about the man.

"You just gonna let Annie Oakley and her child soldier take the lead?" he muttered under his breath to Rick. He shook his head in a 'what else can you do' kind of way.

"You have any better ideas?"

Briefly, Daryl imagined clocking the woman over the head and tossing her out of the back door as a distraction, but he figured the others probably wouldn't go for that plan. If she'd shot one of theirs, he'd do it in a heartbeat, but the fact that she hadn't shot Maggie on sight had to count for something. She was probably just as freaked out as any of the other women back at camp would have been in that situation and he couldn't exactly begrudge her for trying to protect herself and the kid.

He grunted at Rick to let him know that he didn't have any better ideas, but he didn't like their predicament. Rick picked up a roll of bandages and tossed it over to Glenn, before glancing back at Daryl. "But if she makes one wrong move…"

Daryl nodded. "Alright." He didn't have to say anything more; Daryl would watch their backs against walkers and this stranger.

He kept a sharp eye on the eagle-eyed woman who was kneeling beside the wild-haired child.

"Hey, you," he heard her mutter. She placed her hands on the little girl's shoulders. "You scared?"

She stared back up at her with enormous eyes. "Yeah," she whispered back, shaking a little with either fear or nervous energy.

Anna scanned her face quickly, and then patted her shoulders. "Good." She pressed a kiss to her forehead quickly before shuffling back up to her feet and asking, "You ready?"

Glenn stuffed one more box of Band-Aids into Maggie's bag and kissed her. He sighed and turned to their interim leader since Rick had apparently decided to let this stranger lead them. "Let's do this."

* * *

Glenn didn't see this ending well at all. He looked to his left at the curly-haired kid who reached the top of his shoulder on a generous estimate. She couldn't have weighed more than 90 pounds soaking wet. Forgive him if he didn't believe she could physically hold off walkers with him.

By the way Maggie stole glances at the two of them, he knew she was just as worried for his safety as he was.

"Ready?" Cassie asked under her breath, bracing herself as though they were about to begin a race. He swallowed, nodded, and raised the sawed off to the heavy padlock on the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the others position themselves as Cassie had done.

_Bang!_ The lock burst off of the door and Cassie darted forward to push it outward. Glenn took one last glance at Rick, who nodded quickly. He rushed forward to help the little girl shove the rusted door open, and nearly tumbled out onto the pavement at the back of the store where walkers from the front had been drawn to the noise and were now groaning their way to them.

He risked a few precious seconds to slam the door behind them, if only to give the others a couple extra moments. The sound of glass shattering made it to his ears; Rick must've shot through the front windows to escape. If the walkers heard that, then they might head back to the others at the front. He drew a handgun from the back of his jeans' waistband and fired it at the walkers at the front of the horde.

Apparently, Cassie had gotten the same idea. She had a little pistol out (Glenn didn't know the names of guns; he could only distinguish between handguns and shotguns) and aiming at the mass of walkers, mostly hitting their chests and arms, rarely making a clean headshot.

By now, most of the walkers that had been clamoring to break through the front door of the shop now had their sights set on Glenn and Cassie. They weren't quite running yet, but Glenn had seen enough of walkers to know that they could get desperate. He shot a few more before shouting, "C'mon! Let's go!" and jogging backwards.

Cassie fired one last bullet distractedly at a walker, but she missed its head for its left leg. The walker, who had clearly been a gawky teenager working as a waiter at some sit-down restaurant before the turn, tripped forward onto its face. Glenn almost laughed.

But the other walkers took the shot as a signal. Some sort of stared at the fallen geek, others almost grinned at the two humans. Then, they all charged.

"Shit!" he cried and grabbed Cassie by the upper arm. They bolted up the street, the opposite direction from where his group had come. He was tempted for a second to look down the street to where he knew the cars were and where T-Dog, Maggie, Daryl, Rick, and the new girl were headed but he knew that he'd just slow down. And with running walkers on his tail, he needed to stay fast.

"On your right!" Cassie shouted before shooting down an oncoming walker. The number of walkers prowling the street before them was greatly eclipsed by the number currently thirsting for their blood; Cassie had pointed out a particularly obese walker that had shuffled a little too close to Glenn for comfort. He easily dispatched that one and a few others without breaking his stride.

When Main Street faded back into highway, he chanced a look back to see that the two of them were beginning to significantly outstrip the horde, which, thankfully, had not lost interest in them. A bit of the fear that had been pumping through his veins the moment he'd seen Maggie held up at gunpoint by that woman faded. It was quickly replaced by a slow burn in his muscles; the road began to climb up at what felt like an exponential pace.

"Where are we going?" he asked Cassie, who'd slowed a bit so that they wouldn't run completely out of the walkers' sights. Secretly, he was grateful for it; even though winter was coming, the day had decided to be just as humid as any standard dog day of summer was. He was fairly sure he had sweated out enough to make an ice Glenn.

"It's about a mile further," she replied, nodding her head over to a shambling sign that read _Dawson County Road, 3 miles_. "Once we get there, we keep heading up the highway and make a right on Dawson. Then another right on Forrest, a slight left onto Main—"

"You can just tell me when we get there," he interrupted wearily. She smirked a little and he couldn't help but let out a small laugh. When Anna had explained the plan back at the department store, he'd figured he and Cassie had about a thirty percent chance of survival. Now he was laughing with the kid while taking a light jog down a highway. Of course, there was still the matter of the group of about thirty walkers moaning behind them, but…still.

They ran in silence for a few more minutes. Glenn watched Cassie running beside him, her eyes constantly darting around to examine the tree lines on either side of the highway, making sure there weren't any surprise walkers waiting for an easy meal. Blissfully, there were none. If he had done this at the beginning of the outbreak, back when he was much more optimistic and naïve, he would have chalked up the lack of walkers to a stroke of good luck. But older, disillusioned Glenn felt more paranoid at the lack of walkers than at the abundance of them.

"There it is," he heard Cassie exclaim. He almost cried in relief—he didn't show it, but it'd been a while since he'd run a few miles consecutively and an even longer while since Georgia decided to broil. And that's not even factoring the 200 foot climb that their little jaunt had turned into.

Still running, Cassie tossed him a keychain. Predictably, he fumbled with the keys when he caught them, but opened up the cab before the horde got anywhere near. Cassie popped in beside him, grabbing a bag of jerky off from under the seat. A piece of jerky hanging out of her mouth, she asked, "Whan' sfum?" as she shook the bag in his face.

"Ah, no thanks," he replied on instinct, though he almost immediately regretted refusing when his stomach decided to snarl at him. One of the reasons this run had been so imperative was that they hadn't eaten anything substantial in two days. Even Daryl, their resident Survivor Man, hadn't been able to catch anything more than three squirrels in the past week.

He started up the car and pulled away from the highway's shoulder at breakneck speed. Now that he was safe behind the wheel of the truck, the gravity of what they'd just done settled down on him. His stomach was a lump of cement in his stomach and he didn't feel quite so hungry anymore. "Holy shit."

Cassie didn't reply for a while. She just kept her eyes on the road in front of them, holding another strip of jerky in her hand. "Yeah. Holy shit."

* * *

Once they heard the shotgun blasting off the thick padlock, Rick's group jumped up and made to dart over to the pane glass doors.

"Not yet!" their new companion hissed, yanking down the closest survivor, Maggie. "If they see you, they won't follow the noise."

"So what?" T-Dog asked; stupidly, in Daryl's opinion. He rolled his eyes, keeping his crossbow tight in his arms.

"So, we wait for 'em to clear out," he muttered, watching as the crowd of walkers outside cocked their heads toward the gunshots at the back of the store before groaning and dragging themselves away from their path to safety. "Can't wait too long, though." If they did, then some of the walkers would flood in from where Glenn and the kid just left and they'd be trapped up against the door.

"Now!" Rick hissed at them and they all ran over to the doors. Daryl and T-Dog propped them open and motioned to Rick, Maggie, and Anna to take cover behind an overturned car in the road.

With luck, Anna's plan would have gotten rid of all the walkers out front, but they were never so lucky. A few slower walkers who hadn't been able to crawl to the back of the store in time spotted them as soon as they stepped onto the sidewalk and growled.

"Of course," T-Dog moaned. Daryl shoved the door closed behind them, if only to give them a few extra minutes for the walkers inside to make it back out to them, and took aim at a slim walker that shuffled towards them. A bolt impaled the walker right between the eyes. Bullseye. It crumpled. Daryl waved at hand a T-Dog, who had pulled out his long hunting knife instead of the handgun in his waistband, and went to yank the bolt out from the walker's skull.

"No guns," Rick was saying when he joined the others at the rusting red sedan. "We can't risk it." The others nodded while T-Dog peeked over the hood of the car.

"How many?" Maggie questioned him in a terse voice. T-Dog opened his mouth to answer, but the sound of gunshots stopped him. Maggie's eyes grew wide with fear. Daryl knew she was terrified for Glenn's safety and hearing multiple gunshots didn't make her feel any better.

"Hey," the new girl snapped Maggie's attention back to her. "Don't worry about them," she whispered before looking back at T-Dog, who appeared just as sick as Maggie looked. "How many, big guy?"

"Around a dozen?" Daryl whistled lowly, loud enough only for Anna to hear him. He wanted her to know that her plan was stupid and that if any of his people got hurt or bit, he wouldn't show any mercy when he shoved a bolt between her eyes. Her clenched jaw told him that she got the message loud and clear.

Rick took control like he hadn't checked out back in the store. "We stay together; do _not_ break formation for any reason. Understand?" When no one protested, he nodded and stood up. "Now, move!"

Daryl and the others knew the drill; they'd done this before. They hardly had to speak to each other to know when to turn, when to duck, when to dart. They were a well-oiled machine and it only took them four months to become one.

Daryl was surprised—and somewhat annoyed—to see that their new companion fell into formation with them as though she'd always been a part of their pack. Keeping their backs to one another in a tight circle so that everyone's blind spots were covered by someone else, they hastened out into Main Street. The walkers that had been shuffling towards the sound of Glenn and Cassie's gunshots immediately abandoned that mission when they saw the five survivors.

At that moment, Daryl wished that he wasn't the only one with a long range weapon. While he fired off bolts from a safe distance, the others had to wait until the walkers were within biting distance to lunge out and shove a knife into their brains. It made him uncomfortable watching Maggie have to leave the circle to take out a walker because not only did it leave her vulnerable to attack, it reduced the amount of eyes watching his back.

"Y'know how to use that thing?" he asked the girl, nodding his head at the polished black bow that hung over her backpacks.

"Yeah," she retorted in an offended tone, finishing off a walker that Rick had crippled by breaking its knees. It snarled and reached out to slash her with its rotting nails, but she just danced out of its way, yanked its head back, and stuck her knife so deep into the walker's brain that the handle was half bloody when she pulled it out. "Can't right now, though."

His eyes shot to the bandage wrapped around her upper arm. There was a spot of red over where Rick had shot her, but he couldn't tell if it was her blood from torn stitches or something else's. He had to bite his tongue to keep himself from telling her to suck it up and use her bow; after getting one of his bolts stuck in his side, he could sympathize with her desire to keep her arm stationary. He wouldn't ever admit it, but that experience was excruciating.

"Whatever," he finally settled on saying. They'd made it past the pharmacy that Glenn, T-Dog, and Rick were supposed to check out, but they had at least another block to go before they even made it back to the highway. From there, it was another mile to their cars and his bike. And the walkers just kept coming.

"Shit," T-Dog swore when a tall, slim walker in a windbreaker got a little too close. "Where the hell are they comin' from?"

"We can't take 'em all," Maggie exclaimed over the second death rattle of a walker. By now, there were at least twenty walkers coming at them from all sides, more slowly than they usually did, but too many for all of them to take.

"Cover me," Rick said as loudly as he dared and moved to put an ax in the heads of the walkers that blocked the way out of town. Daryl and T-Dog took out two walkers that almost grabbed Rick and Maggie left the circle for a second to kick down a walker that had gotten its lipless face a little too close for comfort to T-Dog's arm.

As he pulled his knife out of the back of an oddly short walker's head, Daryl heard a snarl just a moment too late. He whipped around just in time to catch the geek's face before it took a bite out of his neck. His knife clattered uselessly to the hot pavement. The thing was at least half a foot taller than Daryl and built like a linebacker or at least a fireman by the looks of its burnt yellow overalls. Vaguely, he heard Rick and Maggie calling his name—for help or in alarm at his predicament, he wasn't sure.

Keeping his face only inches away from the thing's chipped, bloody fingernails, he tried to kick it away, but the thing barely budged no matter how hard he shot his leg out to its torso. In his struggle, he noticed the thing still had an ax attached to its belt. If he could just reach it…

Suddenly, an arrow flew through its head and it slumped against him. Daryl shoved the thing off of him in disgust, grabbing his knife and whirling around to take out another walker that he'd heard coming up behind him. But that walker went down the same way. He looked over at where it had come from.

Apparently, Anna decided to give up on keeping her stitches intact because she was sending arrows into walker after walker with almost perfect accuracy. "Go!" she yelled to them, "I'm right behind you!"

They didn't have to be told twice. Despite their hunger and exhaustion, they all managed to get up to a decent clip towards the highway, taking out a few walkers that stood in their way. Daryl glanced over his shoulder.

Anna had gotten up onto the roof of a car still parked at the curb to avoid the reach of walkers' claws. Even from twenty yards away, Daryl could see that her stitches had busted open; the bandage Cassie had so carefully wrapped around her arm was soaked in blood which only riled the geeks up even more. It was a blessing for Daryl and the rest because most of the walkers could now only focus on her fresh scent and left the rest of them to run unmolested.

He wasn't about to turn around and save her ass. She was the one who tried to kill them; she was the one who came up with this god awful plan. So if she went and got herself killed, then that was no skin off of their backs. Still, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt at leaving the woman behind. He shared a glance with Maggie and T-Dog. The looks on their faces told him they felt that same guilt.

But then T-Dog glanced over Daryl's shoulder and his eyes widened in shock. "Holy shit."

They had made it far enough away so that they could still make out the walkers' groaning faces from the highway. Daryl wasn't sure he wanted to turn around and see the carnage, but he did anyway.

Somehow, the woman had been able to clamber down from her perch and had taken out half of the geeks around her with her knife. That alone was impressive enough to warrant a low whistle from Daryl. But then she did something that almost made him run back to take a closer look.

One of the cars—an enormous SUV that Daryl could have imagined some soccer mom ferrying her kids around in—on the street was pointed towards them, downhill towards the highway. She'd been able to lead a group of geeks—about ten of them, Daryl guessed—to the front of the car. Then she jumped into the driver's seat, set the thing into neutral, and let gravity take over. The geeks snarled over the hood of the car at where she sat in the front seat, hands white-knuckling the wheel, as the car slowly began to slide down the road.

"She's fuckin' insane!" T-Dog exclaimed, though Daryl detected a hint of admiration in his tone.

"She's headed straight for us," Maggie whispered.

And she was. The huge car was picking up speed fast, the walkers plastered like flies on the windshield. For a second, Daryl thought she might actually be insane enough to run right into them. But right before the thing got too fast, she swung the door open, cut the wheel sharply to the right, and ducked out of the car. It flew off of the highway downhill into an ancient tree. A couple of the geeks got chopped in half on impact while others smashed their faces onto the windshield, shattering both their brains and the window.

Even Rick had stopped at this point, opening his mouth in shock at the young woman who was still rolling. She scrambled to her feet—though she collapsed the first time from shaking so hard—and limped her way over to them.

Both T-Dog and Maggie sprang into action, catching her before she hit the asphalt again. Apparently, she'd won them over with her crazy actions. Hell, Daryl himself was a little impressed, but that feeling was smothered by a growing rage.

"What the hell was that?" he barked, stomping over to where Maggie had her arm slung over her shoulder, hoisting her up so that the leg she'd landed on was off of the ground. The bottom of her jaw must have scraped against the road because it had a wicked rash that was gushing blood onto her shirt. T-Dog came between them, holding a placating hand up to Daryl.

"C'mon, man; now's not the time for this," he said with a sharp look that would have made better men cower. Daryl didn't back down, though.

"She coulda gotten us all killed!" he hollered, not caring that some walkers that had survived the battle in town could hear him from up the hill.

Understanding that Daryl was in no state to be leading them at the moment, Maggie hissed to Rick, "We need to go, _now_." Rick came up behind Daryl and nodded.

"We'll deal with her later," he said lowly, placing his hand on his shoulder. They still had about a half a mile to go until they could even see their vehicles, and now that the car had made enough noise for a deaf walker to hear, they had to move fast. Daryl jerked his shoulder out of the deputy's grip before stalking off.

He thought he saw the woman's eyes flutter open to gaze at him with glassy eyes. It startled him and he wasn't totally sure why. Maybe it was because she had seemed like a mountain lion back at the store, when she had a gun to Maggie's head, all bared teeth and snarling lips, but more afraid of them than they were of her.

Then around the little girl she was a mother bear, keeping herself between what she perceived as a threat and her young. Daryl had hunted enough bears to know that she would have ripped them all apart if they even looked at the girl the wrong way.

And when she was taking out the walkers in the town, she was a fox— wily, cold-eyed, and stoic. She obviously didn't need them to protect herself and she made sure they knew that.

So when she looked at him with those eyes, it had startled him to see how much she resembled a doe. Soft, gentle, trusting. Because she hadn't done anything but prove that she was a predator, plain and simple.

* * *

**So, first fanfiction on this site. I've been working on this for a long time, so I have a few chapters already written. Let me know what you think! **


	2. Chapter 2

The run back to the car and Daryl's bike was slower than Daryl was comfortable with. There were more walkers roaming around that he was used to and, frankly, he would have been content with ditching their crippled savior by the side of the road. Combined with the scent of her blood, her limp was just going to get them killed.

But Rick hadn't said anything that hinted that he wanted Daryl to take action, so he just kept his mouth shut. He could almost hear his brother's raspy voice taunting him, _Yo, Darylina. You takin' orders from a pig like some lil' bitch?_

He didn't answer. Only a few weeks ago, he would have gotten into an argument with his possibly dead brother in his head but now he pretended he wasn't hearing him at all. Merle continued, _Why didn' you shoot the girl, huh? Git a soft spot for a woman? You know ol' Merle wouldn' need ta cozy up to some bitch just for some pussy…_

Even the sound of his brother's motorcycle couldn't drown out the sound of his brother's phantom voice. Once they'd made it to the vehicles, Rick took the semi-conscious woman from where she hung on Maggie's shoulder and stuck her in the front seat of the Hyundai. Daryl supposed she gave Rick instructions on where to go to meet up with Glenn and the kid because only moments after strapping her in, the car spun away from the shoulder and down the highway. Daryl barely had enough time to gun his engine before Rick, Maggie, T-Dog, and the woman were around a bend.

They didn't have to go too far. They drove fast for around ten minutes before Rick signaled left onto a dirt road that Daryl had almost missed. Trees were thick around them as they pulled to a stop. Daryl wondered if they'd have time to hunt around a bit, seeing as their supply run had been a complete failure. Especially considering that the few supplies they did grab were being used by the woman, whose injuries were looking more and more grave.

Maggie sat her in the back of the Hyundai while she rummaged through their bags for water and antibiotics. Daryl would admit that she needed some medical attention; her bare arm was torn all to hell from scraping the road. Her stitches had busted and blood had managed to seep out from underneath her bandages, dripping onto her torn, dirtied jeans. But hell if he was going to let her use their supplies.

"Maggie!" he yelled and was immediately shushed by the rest of them. He ignored them and said, "What the hell are you doin' with our supplies?"

She gave him a disapproving look. "I'm not gonna sit here and let her bleed out when I can do something about it." Indeed, the woman looked faint from blood loss, her face white as a sheet with a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead.

"She almost got us all killed!" he growled. "Not t'mention that supply run was a bust thanks to her!"

Damn T-Dog stood in the way again. Daryl would have shoved him out of the way if he knew he could. "Take it easy, man."

"Nah, I won' 'take it easy, man'," he mocked, drawling out the words in that annoying, slow-as-molasses way of talking that T-Dog had when he was trying to calm someone down. "This bitch is the reason why Carol and Lori and the others are gonna go hungry again!"

"Stop," Rick finally interjected from where he was leaning against the side of the car with his arms crossed. He straightened up and joined T-Dog in front of Maggie and the woman, very conspicuously shielding them from Daryl's ire. For some reason, that made his blood boil.

"Am I the only one takin' our survival seriously?" he grumbled, pacing away from them and gesturing wildly to the surrounding forest. "Ain't seen hardly anythin' for days out here and it's only gonna get worse when winter comes."

He almost continued to speak but the flash of warning in Rick's eyes stopped him. They both knew what he was planning on throwing out there. _It's only going to get worse when the baby comes_.

"She's passed out," Maggie said quietly. She was wiping her right arm, the one with the road rash, clean of blood. Even with all the blood soaked up into a t-shirt Maggie had dug up from the back of the car, the woman's arm was mangled pretty badly; it reminded him of the torn flesh he saw on walkers. If Daryl saw her limping towards him, he probably wouldn't have hesitated to put a bolt in her head.

"She bit?" he asked in the nicest way he'd spoken all day. Maggie glanced at him before shaking her head.

"No. Probably a concussion, though." The men stood in silence for a moment, watching Maggie carefully remove the broken stitches from her arm.

Then, T-Dog asked, "What the hell are we gonna do with her?" Daryl snorted.

"Toss her out. This ain't even a discussion."

"We can't," Maggie exclaimed, nearly spearing the woman's arm with the needle in her distress. "She's injured and I'd feel better if Dad could take a look at her."

"She ain't our problem!"

"She saved our lives," T-Dog pointed out, crossing his arms.

"After she tried to kill us!" he reminded them. It's like they couldn't even remember that she'd held Maggie and him at gunpoint.

"She was scared!" Maggie argued.

"Yeah, well, scared almost got you killed!"

"She wouldn't have done it," Maggie protested, but with a hint of doubt coloring her voice.

Daryl pounced on it, "Look at her!" he said, gesticulating to the woman lying bloody in the back of their car. She didn't fit right at all; her hair chopped at different lengths, her face caked in dirt and dried blood, and her clothes were much dirtier than even his were. She looked _feral_. He wouldn't have been too surprised if she woke up, turned into a coyote, and ran off. "She's practically an animal! Ya don' know what she woulda done. Ya willin' ta bet your life? Or your sister's?"

"What about the kid?" T-Dog asked suddenly. "She took care of that kid. She can't be all bad."

Daryl shook his head, "Yeah, and Hitler was a vegetarian." He ignored Maggie's rolling eyes and continued, "It don't matter if she's Jesus Christ reincarnated, she put a gun to your head and she'll do it again if she has to."

It was a belief that lingered with them from the old world—that is, the world before walkers. Daryl could see it in T-Dog's and Maggie's faces. They thought that anyone who tried to protect a child was good in their eyes. They thought that just because she looked out for some kid, it meant she was trustworthy. In Daryl's opinion, that just made her more dangerous. A mother bear is most vicious when her cub is being threatened. If anything happened to that kid, there would be hell to pay.

They'd all been dancing around the subject of the woman's darker companion—the one they trusted to lead Glenn back to them safely. They didn't want to acknowledge the fact that if anything bad happened to the woman, they'd have another problem to deal with. As hard as they'd gotten since the shit well and truly hit the fan, none of them were willing to toss a kid no older than Carl out on her ass.

They were all silent. Then T-Dog asked, "Was Hitler really a vegetarian? I read somewhere that that wasn't true."

Thankfully, the woman chose that moment to regain consciousness with a groan, cutting short what could have been a loud conversation between Maggie and T-Dog about shit that didn't matter. When she tried to sit up, Maggie held her shoulder down and soothed, "It's alright."

She blinked hard, adjusting to the waning afternoon light. Her eyes suddenly focused as she took in the three imposing men standing around her. Immediately, she lunged for her bow that lay just out of her reach. Rick and T-Dog jumped to hold her down, while Daryl snatched the bow from her grasp. It was taller than he'd expected it to be; maybe around five feet. Looking at her, he would have guessed her draw weight was twenty-five pounds at most, but her bow looked too big for that.

"Easy now," Rick said, not struggling at all to keep her pinned. She was obviously weak from blood loss and a possible concussion. "We're not going to hurt you."

Daryl scoffed, but silenced at a sharp look from Rick. Maggie asked carefully, "Do you remember what happened?"

She blinked at them all with those stupid eyes that made Daryl want to turn away. "…Where's Cassie?"

Well, that answered their question. Daryl shifted her bow in his arms so he could cross his arms and glare at her. "Dunno. But you best pray she shows up soon. With Glenn in one piece."

The weary lines in her face deepened as her face hardened. It was an odd expression on her childish face; fleetingly, he wondered at her age. He would have guessed she was eighteen on a generous estimate, but he wasn't entirely sure. She seemed too serious to be a teenager. "He'll be fine."

"He better be," Rick growled, letting her shoulder go. She didn't try to get up again, though she narrowed her eyes in annoyance.

"He's safer with Cas than he's ever been in his life," she said with such certainty that Maggie visibly relaxed. Daryl wasn't so easily fooled though.

"Ya mean with Little Miss Sunshine?" Daryl snorted. "She's, what, eight?" _Twelve_, his own mind answered.

"She's tough," she insisted coldly.

"Tough kids are still just kids."

"Look, asshole," she snapped, swatting away Maggie's hands while attempting to pull herself up to a sitting position. She winced when she shifted around to give him a murderous look. Her ribs might have gotten bruised when she took a roll out of the car, he analyzed out of instinct. But she ignored her pain to address him, "I wouldn't have told her to do something I didn't think she could handle."

He opened his mouth to retaliate, but she continued over him in a louder voice, "I get it, dude. Ok? You think I'm a complete monster. Whatever. I saved your ass, though, and you know it."

"What the hell?" he seethed, tossing her bow off to the side of the dirt road. She clenched her jaw at the dull thump it made, but Daryl didn't give a shit.

Neither did she, apparently. "I get that you're the camp guard dog, so I'm _sorry_ that you feel like shit 'cause you got your ass handed to you by a couple of chicks."

His vision went red. He forgot that they'd just run for their lives from flesh-eating monsters, that she was a woman, that she was probably a little fuzzy from blood loss. He wasn't entirely sure what happened next, but one moment he was arguing with a mouthy bitch sitting in the back of a car and the next T-Dog had him by the arms, holding him back from lunging at the girl.

"The fuck did you say ta me, girl?" he snarled, spitting and swearing against T-Dog's strong hold.

"Are you deaf _and _stupid?" she jeered, albeit weakly, around Rick and Maggie. "God _damn_, you got the short end of the genetic stick, didn't you?"

Rick grabbed her right arm, making her cry out in pain and snap her mouth shut. He hissed under his breath, "You are not making a good case for yourself, so I suggest you stop talking."

"A good case for what? Y'all deciding whether or not to kill me?"

"No, we want to take you back with us," Maggie said. She nodded her head at the woman's extensive injuries. "My dad is a doctor; he can check you over."

"No." Maggie quirked her eyebrow at her blunt answer. "Once Cassie and your man get here, we're taking off."

"Somethin' we agree on, then…" Daryl muttered. He'd calmed down enough for T-Dog to release him.

Maggie shook her head, arguing, "You might have a concussion. I'd feel better if Dad made sure you weren't going to pass out randomly."

"No," she repeated, her chin set stubbornly. But she was beginning to sway again, like she had when she'd passed out the first time. Her eyes glazed over as she stared through Rick's torso.

At that moment, a Nissan pickup pulled around the bend. Glenn clambered out of the tall truck looking a hell of a lot more put together than the rest of them combined. His grin faded when he saw their tense stances and the blood coating their clothes.

"What happened?" he asked when he'd rushed over, grabbing Maggie in his arms before checking her over for bites. The little girl—Cassie, Daryl reminded himself—trailed after him, softly as a shadow.

If it weren't for the dark color of her skin, he might have mistaken the two strangers for sisters. They both had those enormous doe eyes that were innocent and old at the same time. They wore matching solemn expressions that didn't fit quite right on their soft faces. They even stood the same way; on the balls of their feet, like they were forever about to dart away.

"Walkers," Maggie answered, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Tons of 'em," T-Dog added tiredly.

"Anna?" Cassie asked out loud, to no one in particular. Daryl wasn't sure if she was asking them about her or if she knew Anna was nearby and could hear her shaky voice.

"Cas." Cassie gasped when she saw her companion bloodied and bruised. Rick held her back from tackling Anna. He even gave her a soft smile, one that none of them had seen since before Carl got shot almost two months before.

"She's pretty badly hurt, so don't go body-slamming her," he instructed her. For a second, Daryl was sure Cassie was going to shoot off some biting comment at him—after all, the two of them were already so alike. But she just grinned, all of her teeth glowing against her dark skin.

"Don't worry!" she chirped and hopped up beside Anna. She gave her a quick onceover. "You bit?"

Anna shook her head and opened her mouth to reply, but then her eyes rolled back into her head and she fainted again. Cassie yelped when she slumped over onto her tiny shoulder.

"Annie!" She held her face in her tiny hands, but the woman's head just lolled heavily. Maggie and Rick jumped to yank Anna off of the young girl, who was becoming understandably hysterical. "Is she ok? Was she bitten? Help her, for God's sake! What—"

"We're gonna get her patched up, alright, sweetie?" Maggie soothed, throwing a glare at Daryl as if she was daring him to argue. He didn't change his expression. Of course he couldn't. None of them could tell the kid that they were debating on whether or not to toss them out on their asses, not while she was quivering uncontrollably with tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

"Hey, hey," Glenn crouched down and put a hand on her shoulder. "We're gonna take her back to our camp. We have a doctor who can look at her, so she'll be fine, alright?"

Rattled, the girl managed to give him a nod. He gave her shoulder another squeeze before straightening and turning to Rick, "I'll drive their car back."

Once he'd agreed, there was a flurry of activity. It was beginning to get dark. They hadn't thought this run would last so long, but thanks to the unanticipated amount of walkers crawling around, they were out for an extra two hours.

T-Dog and Daryl held the woman up while Maggie cleaned up as much as she could from the back of the Hyundai. It was a lost cause; there would be blood stains in the carpet forever now. Then, they laid her across the back seat of the car and Maggie slid in after to monitor her condition on the ride back.

Cassie rode with Glenn, which was surprising. They all thought she'd want to stay close to Anna, but she only gave them wary looks when they voiced that assumption. Though she looked at Glenn like he'd hung the moon—something Daryl noticed immediately and with intense amusement—apparently she didn't trust him enough to not to take off with their truck.

It was only a thirty minute trip back to where they'd set up camp just off of the highway at an old campground. It was by no means permanent; the only good thing about it was that they had a mountain covering them on one side. They would have to move on soon, though. Daryl hadn't hunted anything bigger than a couple of squirrels.

The rumble of Daryl's motorcycle echoed off of the trees around the small fire that Carol and Lori had obviously set up recently to keep them warm during the chilly night. They'd lost a lot of supplies when they got overrun at the farm, so there were only three tents to split amongst the ten of them. The largest went to Rick, Lori, and Carl, the next largest was for Hershel, Beth, and Maggie, while Carol took the one-man tent. T-Dog, Glenn, and Daryl switched off every night to share with her, though Daryl rarely used it. He either took long watch shifts or slept in the bed of the truck. He felt too weird sharing a tent with someone, even if it was someone he knew well. Hell, the only reason he shared a tent with Merle back at the quarry was because he wanted to keep an eye on Merle—make sure he wasn't getting so stoned that he became a danger to everyone.

Everyone left in the camp looked up when they heard his engine grumbling and saw the car pull around them, providing them with at least a little extra cover. Carol frowned when she saw the extra car.

"Yo, Hershel!" Daryl called over to the old man, who had been checking Lori's pulse, one hand at her neck, the other holding his watch. Rick pulled the bloody, unconscious woman from the back of the car.

"Oh my god!" Carol gasped, jumping up from her place at the fire. Carl and Beth cleared debris off one of the picnic tables that they weren't using and flung semi-clean tarp over it so Rick could place her on it. Hershel came over, a grave look on his face.

"What happened?" he asked, taking Maggie's bag of medical supplies when she held it out for him.

"Got trapped by some walkers," T-Dog offered. "This chick helped us out."

"Yeah, after putting a gun to Maggie's head," Daryl muttered. Carol put a hand over her mouth in shock and Lori gasped. Maggie glared at him before turning to her frozen father. He looked uncertain about helping the woman now.

"Daddy, she was scared," Maggie said, "She ended up saving us."

"Why would you bring her back here?" Lori asked in one of her tones. Daryl secretly called this one the 'mom tone.' She used it when she was scolding Carl or when she wasn't getting her way and she wanted everyone to know just how pissy she was feeling. "If she threatened you…"

"It's because of me," Cassie said, pacing over so quietly that Daryl almost hadn't noticed her. No one else did, certainly; they flinched when they heard her small voice. "They were worried about what would happen to me if they left her to die."

The back of Daryl's neck burned. For some reason, he felt like a kid caught with one hand in a cookie jar. The kid had nailed it right on the head with her assumption, though Glenn, T-Dog, and Maggie all floundered to find excuses.

"She saved our lives!"

"We're not horrible people…"

"She needed help, and you know…"

"She's right," Rick interrupted. The others quit their blathering at Rick's cold tone. "And as soon as Hershel says she's good to go, they're taking off."

Cassie gazed at him coolly, nodding her head like a queen. She still didn't trust them, Daryl realized. He wouldn't be as surprised to see that if she was older. But then he was used to kids like Carl and Sophia—ones who trusted easily and couldn't follow an instruction even with a map.

Glenn sighed, clearly unhappy with that declaration. Or he was just tired. Exhaustion hit Daryl like a bag of cement. Now that they were somewhat safe, all Daryl wanted to do was collapse in the dirt and sleep for a few days. But since the supply run ended up being a colossal waste of time, he knew he had to catch something for them to eat. Or at least for Lori, Beth, and Carl to eat.

"I'm gonna go hunt," Daryl declared, shifting his crossbow on his shoulder for emphasis and nodded over at Anna's prone figure. "Since this chick ruined our supply run."

"Wait." He stopped stalking towards to the trees at Cassie's excited voice. She raced over to the Nissan pickup that Glenn had driven back, propped up the hard cover, and hopped up into the bed. All the others—excluding Hershel and Anna, of course—followed her to peer after her. Lori gasped when Cassie held a can of mushroom soup aloft with a grin. She tossed it to Glenn, who predictably dropped it in surprise. "We have some food. It's not much, but we can eat tonight."

Rick rummaged through the cardboard box, pulling out cans of Spaghetti-O's, ravioli, at least three kinds of soups, pears, pineapples, and more. Juggling four cans, Rick raised an eyebrow, "'Not much'?"

She shrugged, shifting out of the way so T-Dog could grab the box and hoist it over to Daryl. "I meant for you guys. It would have lasted us another week." Lori and Carol looked uncomfortable at the girl's matter-of-fact tone, but Cassie didn't seem to pick up on it. Daryl thought that she probably did pick up on it, and she reveled in their discomfort. "But if you all just have a can each, then you'll need more food by tomorrow night."

Rick placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled. "This is more than enough. Thank you." She shook her head.

"You guys are looking after Anna, so it's the least I can do." Rick and Daryl shared a look. Neither of them was very comfortable with the stranger that Hershel was leaning over. Neither of them would admit it—they were both too proud to—but they owed her their lives. She didn't have to risk her life for them back at the town, but she did. And now she had provided them with food that they desperately needed. They were just falling deeper and deeper in her debt and Daryl couldn't easily suppress the feeling of obligation. Nowadays, being in someone's debt, especially a stranger's, was a liability.

Rick nodded to her before checking up on Hershel. Daryl began to trail after him—in case Anna woke up again and lashed out at Hershel; they'd need some muscle to hold her down—but Carol blocked his path.

"Are you alright?" she asked softly, her eyes wide with worry. Daryl still wasn't totally comfortable with Carol's overt concern; he had to consciously suppress the urge to tell her to mind her own business. He managed to make one side of his mouth turn up, though. That was an improvement in his books.

"Yeah. Nobody got hurt 'cept for Legolas over there," he said, jerking his head in Hershel and Anna's direction. Rick and Hershel were leaning over the woman's body, speaking quietly while the older man stitched up the deeper wounds in her arms.

"Was it really a good idea to bring her back here?" she whispered, looking at him like he knew what the hell to do. It's not like he was king boss; that was Rick's job. "She threatened you; she's dangerous!"

He shrugged, saying, "It ain't permanent. Once she can move, she and the kid'll be out of here. 'Sides," he rolled his eyes, "'s not like she's movin' around much now."

Carol was still uneasy, he could tell. But she nodded and patted his arm before leaving his side to help Lori sort through the box of food.

Later that night, after Hershel declared the woman's condition stable—"She has a mild concussion," Hershel'd said, "but she's so exhausted that we should let her sleep."—and they'd moved her into the third tent, the one that Carol usually slept in, they sat around the fire and had the biggest meal they'd had in a long time. Cassie didn't join them; while they were all settling down and heating up their soups and pastas, she grabbed a can of tomato soup, without bothering to heat it up, and disappeared into the tent where Anna lay resting.

"It's like college all over again," Maggie laughed softly. She leaned into Glenn's shoulder while poking her fork into her can idly. "I must've had Spaghetti-O's every day in my sophomore year. Don't think it ever tasted so good, though."

Carl and Beth giggled while Glenn breathed an amused sound, wrapping his arm around her shoulder to keep themselves warmer.

"And we have those girls to thank," T-Dog murmured under his breath, like he didn't want anyone to hear what he said. But Daryl heard him loud and clear, even from his place across the fire.

"Don' mean nothin'," he snarled, stabbing his spoon into his can of chicken noodle soup so aggressively that the broth spilled out onto the forest floor, narrowly missing Carol's foot. She shot him an annoyed look, which he ignored. "They ain't stayin'."

"Maybe…there's a place for them," Glenn suggested, his expression somehow confident and meek at the same time. "I mean, they helped us out. They're not bad people."

"This world can make people change," Carol reminded him darkly. They didn't need to say who they meant. _Shane_. No one talked about Shane; it was their new unspoken rule.

"The older one threatened Maggie," Hershel said. "I don't feel comfortable with her around, even if she's incapacitated."

"Daddy, I told you; she was afraid!" Maggie interrupted, exasperated for some reason. Daryl would have hoped that a gun to the face wouldn't make you too hospitable to the person holding it. But then again, the world can make people change, as Carol said. Maybe Maggie'd lost her sense of reasonable fear.

"No." Everyone stopped bickering at the sound of Rick's hoarse voice. He'd always had that voice, the one with enough weight to drag your attention away from whatever you were doing and listen, but ever since they'd found out that he'd killed his best friend, his voice seemed to have even more gravity. "They know that as soon as Anna is fit to travel, they are gone."

"But they're just kids, Rick," T-Dog said.

Rick shook his head adamantly, leaning forward, closer to the fire. The flames danced in his hard eyes, so different from the man who'd led them out of the CDC and the man who cried over every loss in their group as though they were his blood. "My decision is final," he snapped. T-Dog sat back, a little stunned at his tone.

Daryl chewed a noodle, staring at their fearless leader. Hell, he was surprised at his tone too, even if it was the tone Daryl would have taken with T-Dog's remarks. But Rick wasn't so harsh and he sure as hell wasn't like Daryl.

"Can't we take a vote?" Maggie asked, quietly. Rick clenched his jaw, but didn't do or say anything else that expressed his displeasure.

But just as Maggie opened her mouth again, he threw his can into the fire, said, "Do what you want; it doesn't change the fact that _my decision is final_," before stomping over to his tent and zipping himself inside. The sound of the zipper wasn't quite as dramatic as a slamming door, but it did the trick. No one spoke for five minutes.

The fire spoke enough for them in that time—it crackled and popped, sending fireworks up above them, floating higher and higher towards the canopy of the trees. Daryl was certain that some of the sparks would make it past the leaves of the trees and continue to float forever, up into the sparkling night sky, but they never made it more than five feet in the air before their glowing bodies were snuffed out by the cold night air.

Daryl thought of what Rick had said two weeks before, the night that the farm was overrun. _This isn't a democracy anymore_. They hadn't felt any repercussions from that declaration since he'd said it. Things went on as they had before, with only minor changes—obviously, they were on the road now instead of on a farm, Lori was pregnant and so she had to eat more and do less, and they'd gotten a new car. But they didn't really think much of Rick's words until now.

Daryl agreed with Rick, of course; he thought having those girls around would just be a problem. Two more mouths to feed, two more people to look out for, at least one more irresponsible kid to keep an eye on. But it kind of pissed him off that Rick wouldn't even listen to what the others had to say. It almost made him want to vouch for the girls.

Almost.

"I still think we should vote on it," Maggie grumbled. Glenn nodded in agreement.

"Whatever," Daryl said, without much venom. He just felt tired now. Sick of thinking about how fucked up Rick was, of worrying about the lack of food, of keeping an eye on that tent with the girls in it.

"She saved our lives," T-Dog said, for the thousandth time.

"They gave us food," Maggie added.

"Uh…" Glenn struggled to come up with a third thing. "They're girls…?" he finally offered lamely. Maggie gave him an annoyed look.

"Are you saying that just because they're women, that means they can't take care of themselves?" she asked, raising her eyebrow. Glenn paled and swallowed visibly.

While he fumbled around for an answer that wouldn't dig him into a deeper hole, Carol said, "They tried to kill you."

"Twice," Hershel reminded them.

"We don't know them," Lori finished quietly, stroking her stomach with a thin hand. She was just beginning to show, something that made Daryl feel even shittier about not being able to find food.

"We didn't know y'all," Maggie said, breaking out of her little argument with a nervous Glenn to defend the strangers, "but we took you in."

"Yeah, and that ended well," Daryl muttered, ignoring the pained looks the Greenes gave him. He was talking about Otis—Shane had killed him. Not to mention the walkers in their barn that they thought could be saved; that is, until Shane took a shotgun and blasted the lock off of the door, letting the walkers roam free like some fucked up herd of cattle. Cattle that they had admittedly massacred as soon as they stumbled out.

"They could be helpful, you know," Glenn pondered.

"Yeah, ok," Daryl snorted in disbelief. "They don' look like they weigh more'n 100 pounds combined and covered in motor oil."

"Look, I spent an hour in the car with that kid," he insisted, growing more animated in his gestures, nearly knocking Carl's hat off of his head in his excitement. Not bothering to apologize, he continued, "She's, like, a genius."

"Like, can recite 500 digits of Pi genius or Doogie Howser genius?" Maggie asked.

"Uh, neither of those," Glenn gave his girlfriend a weird look. "She knew every street by heart; she didn't even need a map or anything."

"So, she's from around here," Carol said, unimpressed.

"I'm from Philadelphia," a small voice piped up from behind Maggie and Glenn, who both let out a yelp of surprise. Daryl was pissed at himself. She'd snuck up on him again! It didn't matter that she was a tiny kid and was probably quiet without even meaning to be; she could have slit Maggie's throat without making a sound.

She stepped out from behind them, her eyes glittering with mirth in the firelight. She apparently liked startling people, a trait Daryl found fucking annoying and somewhat rude, even by his pretty low standards. She elbowed Carl out of the way, ignoring his groan of pain, so she could sit cross-legged by his feet.

"What the hell are you doin' down in Georgia, then?" T-Dog asked.

She smiled without humor. "I lost my family. My parents, my younger brothers and sister. But I have aunts and uncles in New Orleans, so we're heading down that way."

Knowing what he did about major cities, Daryl didn't voice his opinion. But he was sure New Orleans was wiped off of the map and he barely knew anything about it. If her family was still alive, they sure as hell wouldn't still be in New Orleans. They'd have taken off a long time ago.

She noticed the condolatory looks the group was giving her and shook her head, "I know they're not alive. I'm not stupid."

Like that made them feel any less sympathetic. "So…er, if you know they're…you know," Glenn stuttered, gesturing vaguely to indicate 'dead', "Why are you going to Louisiana?"

She shrugged, "It's just what we're doing. We decided to go back when this thing wasn't so bad, you know, when my family might've been ok. And now it's like, well, we've come this far, what's the point of giving up now?"

By the looks on Glenn's face, it was clear that he didn't understand why they'd risk their lives on a goal that was most likely unattainable. The others appeared just as puzzled.

Daryl knew what she was saying. Right now, their group had a goal in mind— find a place to hole up long enough for Lori to have the baby. When they'd escaped from the CDC, their goal was to get to Fort Benning. It gave them something to think about, to work towards. He couldn't imagine wandering around, no safe end in sight, just trying to survive for the sake of survival.

Daryl understood her. But that didn't mean he didn't think it was stupid.

"Does Anna know?" Maggie asked the little girl, though her voice had changed from the strange lilting tone that everybody seemed to adopt when they talked to a child. If he couldn't see who was speaking, he would have thought she was talking to Carol or Rick.

Cassie cocked her head from side to side. "I think so. We don't really talk about it," she replied sadly.

An awkward silence descended. It clicked then for him; he'd been wondering why the kid was revealing so much about herself and her companion. From the few moments he'd spent killing walkers with the older one, he'd assumed that she would have been instructed to keep her mouth shut about personal details. But it was clear now—the kid was lonely. Why wouldn't she be? Her whole family was dead, the person taking care of her was practically a mute, and she probably hadn't seen someone her age since before the world took a nosedive off a cliff into hell.

"So, Cassie," Carol must have picked up on the little girl's despair, for she rushed to change the subject to something a little more cheerful, if any happy topics still existed, "How long have you been with Anna?"

"Four months, twelve days, and seven hours," she recited in monotone, like she was already growing bored with where this new conversation was going.

"You've been keeping track of the days?" Carl asked, speaking for the first time since the strangers had arrived, probably just now warming up to the idea of having another kid around. He had lowered his voice in that way that Daryl had noticed he'd started doing since they'd left the farm. He wasn't sure if it was because he was trying to be more mature so that his mom let him carry a gun or if he was trying to impress Beth, but either way Daryl smirked every time he heard the kid talk.

"Yeah," Cassie replied, looking at them all strangely. "You don't?"

Daryl snorted. "What's the point? Don' need to know if it's September or July; just need to know if it's hot or cold."

"Yeah, but when you know the month, you can predict if the weather's gonna get worse or better, you know?" she said. Glenn and Maggie nodded in agreement. Daryl just snorted.

"Whatever."

"So…" Beth started nonchalantly, probably so that Daryl wouldn't glare at her for being too curious, "do you know what day it is?"

"November 4th." The others had to fight to hide their smiles. He guessed it was because after spending your whole life as a slave to time, it was difficult to forget it. Go to school at eight, get to work at nine, do the laundry at one, make sure you visit your aunt on the 13th. Daryl hadn't been good with time—he was late to nearly everything he did.

He didn't need to keep track of time, not even before. When you spent your days in the forest, time didn't matter. It was the angle of the light that told you how long it'd be until you couldn't see your hand in front of your face, and it was the smell of the breeze that told you to take cover from the rain.

"It's Sunday," Cassie added, picking up a long stick from beside her and poking a glowing ember in the fire.

"Damn, I've got work in the morning," Glenn said jokingly. The others chuckled at that; even Daryl smirked.

Any joke in the apocalypse was way funnier than it would have been before. It was like a joke at two in the morning. Perpetual exhaustion and a lack of anything genuinely funny tended to do that.

"So, you were voting?" Cassie asked, jumping right to the elephant in the clearing. Maggie and Glenn shot each other wide-eyed glances while Carol hemmed and hawed out some bullshit excuses.

Daryl saw it again in the girl's eyes—she enjoyed making them uncomfortable. "Don' matter none," he muttered under his breath, but Cassie turned her head in his direction. He caught her wide-eyed gaze and stared her down; just because she was a kid didn't mean Daryl wasn't going to tell her the truth.

"Rick says y'all gotta beat it once your girl is fixed up," he finished.

"We," Maggie was quick to say, glaring at Daryl who didn't have any qualms sneering right back, "don't want to toss you out, though."

"You really helped us out back there," Glenn added. T-Dog nodded emphatically.

"Didn't that girl threaten you, Maggie?" Lori asked quietly; it was the first thing she'd contributed since the kid had sat down with them.

Maggie breathed a weary sigh, like she was growing tired of talking about how she'd almost gotten a bullet in her brain. "What would you have done if you'd found some strange person riffling through our supplies?"

Lori's mouth tightened before her eyes darted to the dark girl outstretching her small hands towards the fire. Her eyes softened a little, the way they did when she saw Carl laughing or how they had when she had watched Sophia and Carl play together at the quarry.

She felt guilty, Daryl could tell, guilty about leaving a child behind. But she felt even guiltier about sleeping with her husband's best friend and getting knocked up in the apocalypse. She couldn't afford to lose any more points with her husband, so she'd support him blindly, just so that he'd maybe look at her again.

The whole situation sucked. Rick was slowly losing it and no one really blamed him. He killed his best friend, found out that his wife was sleeping with said best friend, and learned that she was pregnant with said best friend's kid. He'd watched his son put down a dead Shane, shouldered the blame of every loss that their group had suffered, and lost his trust in any unexpected kindness.

And now, the only person who was able to sway his decisions had so thoroughly fucked up their relationship that the rest of the group could only follow their leader into the dark. They all suffered for it, but none more than these two girls who'd, frankly, saved their asses several times in the past seven hours.

Even he felt a little guilty about supporting Rick. Sending them out on their own in this shitty world was essentially a death sentence. Even if the older one insisted on leaving their group as soon as she was able, it didn't sit well with Daryl to make the kid take a hike. He didn't think he could handle another little girl's death weighing on his conscience.

"Rick wouldn't turn her away," Carol whispered so quietly that only he could hear her. Apparently, she'd gotten the same idea as he had. "She should stay with us."

Daryl didn't answer. He chewed on the side of his thumb in deep thought.

"Rick won't let Anna stay," Carol said louder, so that Cassie glanced up at her. "But he wouldn't want to see you get hurt, Cassie."

She narrowed her eyes. "What are you saying?"

"You can stay with us," Carol offered, growing more eager. The others who had remained silent—Hershel, Beth, and Carl—perked up a little at that suggestion.

She shook her head; slowly at first, as though she had to consider it. "No."

"You're safer with us," Lori said.

"I'm staying with Anna," she said in a louder voice, a hint of defiance in her tone. She sounded much less like the creepily mature adult that Daryl had almost gotten used to; now, she was more of a petulant child.

None of the adults wanted to say it, for fear of frightening the kid. _How long will you two survive out there on your own? How much longer can you keep each other alive?_

Thankfully, Carl had much less tact. He asked her quietly, "For how long?"

Setting her jaw in a manner reminiscent of Anna's tightly clenched teeth only a few hours before, she said stubbornly, "We're going to New Orleans."

"Your family is dead," Carl said coldly, ignoring the look of disapproval that his mother shot him. None of her opinions held any weight with him, no more than they did with Rick. And she was becoming too afraid of turning her son against her any more than she already had, so she rarely scolded him anymore. "You said it yourself."

Suddenly, Cassie stood up, fire blazing in her wide brown eyes. She stared at each of them individually, holding their gazes with her own dark one just long enough for a shiver to crawl down their spines, before she wordlessly spun around and marched back into the tent where her guardian lay wounded.

"Carl…" Beth started, her tone as stern as his mother's would have been if she wasn't too chicken-shit to berate him. Carl simply mimicked Cassie by shoving the deputy's hat over his eyes and stalking to the tent where his father was probably still awake and listening to the entire conversation.

"Shit," Daryl mumbled under his breath. The others glanced over at him curiously. "Not even part of our group and they're already causin' problems."

"So you're saying to leave that kid behind? Just because Anna seems volatile?" Maggie asked him, anger burning in her eyes.

He shrugged. "She's old enough to decide for herself."

"Old enough to decide whether to abandon the only person she knows? Is she old enough to understand that she's safer in a group, but that she'll have to leave Anna behind?"

Rubbing his hands hard over his face, he sighed heavily. "Shit, I dunno. The kid is fine. I'm alright with her stayin', and I'm pretty sure Rick is too. But…" he shook his head.

Lori finished his sentence quietly, "But the older one…we can't risk that."

"What, do you think she'll slit our throats in the middle of the night?" T-Dog asked with a pathetic attempt at a smile. "What the hell would she get out of that?"

"It's not just that she's dangerous," Carol said slowly. T-Dog frowned at her obvious dodge. "She's another mouth to feed."

"And Cassie isn't?" Glenn argued.

"She's a child, though," Lori said.

"What are you saying? She eats less?" Maggie scoffed. "She gets mercy because she's not old enough to vote?"

"Are you arguing against her now?" Carol snapped, clearly not enjoying the icy tone Maggie took, though each of the women had taken an obviously frosty tone with one another.

"No, I'm saying that you're acting very charitable, but only when you ain't got nothing to lose!"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Carol seethed. Everyone except Maggie and Carol looked surprised at how heated this argument had gotten in a matter of seconds. But it seemed Carol had grown a backbone since they'd left the farm, voicing her opinions loudly and standing by them despite the rough verbal treatment she was getting. And Maggie had always been a stubborn woman, Daryl knew. Ever since the day she'd come galloping through the woods on horseback and clubbed a walker's head off with a baseball bat. Together, the two women were a much more volatile combination than they were only a month before.

"Let's calm down," Hershel interrupted them before Maggie said something she would regret. Already, though, Daryl saw guilt on her face for whatever she was about to say. "This doesn't need to be solved today. Why don't we get some shuteye and continue this discussion tomorrow? You must be tired," he said, referring to the ones who'd gone on the run earlier.

"I'll take first watch," Daryl offered, standing before anyone could object and walking away. He was exhausted, but he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. He'd just lie there, feeling the weariness sinking into his bones, relaxing the muscles in his body, but stay awake for hours. He needed to think for a while. Maybe that'd wear him out.

"Just wake me up in three hours, man," T-Dog called after him softly, gratefully. He waved his hand behind him to let him know he'd heard him. He couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't stay up all night, though.

What he wouldn't give for a smoke right now. He'd found a pack in a convenience store about a week before, but those were long gone. Besides, he'd made sure to smoke those quickly and right before they all took off from wherever they were staying, so that the smell of smoke wouldn't linger on the group. He'd just have to settle on chewing the side of his thumb, a somewhat painful habit he'd had to pick up when smoking cigarettes became impossible.

It was quiet after he left the fire. A few more low murmurs, sure, but after twenty minutes, the rest of them went to sleep. Daryl wasn't sure where Carol was going to sleep, seeing as her tent was occupied by a bloodied up woman and her kid, and he knew she wouldn't want to sleep within twenty feet of them. Not that he blamed her; he made sure to keep one eye on the tent so that'd he'd be the first to know if the woman was going to give them all Colombian neckties.

The woman. He couldn't bring himself to use her name, nor could he do that for the kid. Once, when he was still a kid, he left food out for a mangy dog that would come around every so often. Eventually, the dog warmed up to him, let him scratch his massive head, even jumped around when Daryl came out to see him. He'd named him Duke, even though he wasn't sure if the dog already had an owner.

Then his father found Duke begging for scraps at their door and kicked him so hard he never returned. Daryl had watched through the window, horrified, with his hands clamped over his ears to muffle the sound of breaking bones and the pained yelps of the dog—_his _dog. And when he cried in front of his father, he'd grabbed him by the front of the shirt and slapped him hard across his already reddened face, screaming at him for feeding strays and "being a bitch."

He never really got used to the beatings from his father, but that time he hadn't cried because he hurt. He'd cried because he'd lost the only thing that loved him without judgment, without pain. He'd lost part of his family, as stupid as that was to say about some street dog. Even to this day, he wondered what had happened to Duke, his only friend during one of the darkest times in his life. And most of all, he wondered if it would have hurt so much to lose him if he hadn't given him a name, made him an actual living thing with feelings and pain. It was easier when he thought of things as just that—things.

If he called them by their names, then maybe it could hurt when they left. He knew he'd wonder for the rest of his short life about the two girls with doe eyes that saved their lives and wonder if they died because they were too afraid to take them in. And Daryl was 80% sure that they weren't a threat.

He heard Rick coming up behind him, knowing it couldn't have been a walker; their tell-tale growls alerted him from yards away. All he could hear was Rick's slow, steady breaths and his heavy footsteps crunching twigs underfoot.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, their breath coming out in puffs of white clouds. After the hot day, the cold had settled back in to the crevices of the valley, chilling them to the core. And it was only November, Daryl scoffed to himself. The cold was only going to get worse.

Finally, Rick wiped under his nose with his thumb, the way Daryl noticed he did when he was about to speak. "What do you think?"

"Think the whole argument don't matter; they already said they're leaving."

Rick nodded absently, clearly unsatisfied with Daryl's answer. "That girl is Carl's age."

"Somehow, I get the feeling they don' want to be separated," Daryl replied, sarcasm tinting his voice.

"But how much longer could she keep her alive?"

Daryl glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "You sayin' we should offer a place for the kid and leave Robin Hood out to dry?"

"I…" Rick sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. "Yeah. We gotta at least make sure they know that's an option."

Daryl was silent, mostly because he knew Rick wanted him to either agree or disagree with him so that he could get some reassurance. And, frankly, Daryl didn't know what the best course of action was.

"I don't think I could let them go without giving them the option. I mean…" He exhaled loudly. "They come across Randall's group or another one like it and they're dead. Anna can't protect her and those sick bastards wouldn't think twice about hurting a little girl."

Daryl detected a small flaw in that logic; if the girls had run across a group like Randall's, they would both be fucked. And if they took the kid in, and Anna ran into Randall's group, then she'd still be fucked. He guessed that because she was older and had pointed a gun at their heads that Rick would feel a lot less guilty about whatever happened to her.

"Alright. Whatever. I don't have a problem with the kid."

"Alright, I'll talk to Anna when she wakes up."

"You're not gonna ask Cassie?"

"She's not old enough to know what's best for her. I think Anna would see that Cassie is more likely to survive with us than she is with her."

"She's Carl's age," Daryl repeated the words Rick had said earlier.

"Yeah, and I don't know if he knows what's best for him. She's the same age Sophia was, too. I'm not letting another little girl die because I thought she was old enough to know what's best for her."

"Let's be honest: that kid in there is nothing like Sophia."

"She's not an adult, Daryl." His tone shut down whatever argument Daryl was about to make for her. The way Rick dismissed Cassie's opinions irritated him, probably because he remembered being her age and being furious when Merle or his father thought they knew what was best for him. They never did.

But he knew the only reason he was still arguing with Rick was because he was pissed. He agreed with him. Neither one of them could handle the burden of another little girl's death weighing on their consciences.

* * *

**Hello, readers! Thanks for reading chapter two. I've gotten up to chapter 5 written, but I won't be posting those immediately because I'm a slow writer. Seriously, I've been writing this story for months and I'm only up to chapter 6. So, please be patient with me! **

**The title-by the way, in case anyone was wondering-is from Robert Frost's poem "Fire and Ice." If you haven't read it yet, I totally recommend it. It's super short. Also, it's pretty cool, but mostly because it's a nice, bite-sized poem. **

**Anyway, let me know how you liked this chapter (or didn't like this chapter, whatever).**


	3. Chapter 3

Even after four and a half months of it, Cassie wasn't used to waking up and not seeing her little sister snuggled up in her covers across their shared room. Back home, it was almost snowy season. She was almost entirely certain that she'd never see snow again—not in the soft, deep drifts that she'd grown up with, anyway; a fact she silently mourned. Of course, all mourning had to be done silently nowadays; Anna didn't tolerate complaints about trivial things.

Cassie dropped to her knees and crawled over to her, placing a little hand on her forehead. Cool. No fever, at least. She rocked back onto her heels, staring at the gentle rise and fall of her chest for a moment, thanking god or whatever was out there looking out for them. She wasn't very religious—especially now—but she was sure that there had to be someone looking out for the two of them. How else could they have lasted this long?

She checked the cheap plastic wristwatch on her wrist. 6:28 in the morning. Normally by this time, the two of them were tightening the straps on their packs and starting off for the day. But today found Cassie in a tent that wasn't hers, next to an unconscious Anna, surrounded by people who wanted them out. Well, wanted Anna out, anyway.

Cassie sighed again and stroked Anna's forehead before leaving the tent. She knew that she shouldn't trust people—if she knew what was going on in her head, Anna would be pulling her hair out—but these people didn't seem bad. Especially compared to the groups they'd seen before. She felt safe enough leaving Anna on her own in the tent.

The sun was stretching from beneath the horizon, shining bright enough that Cassie could see around the campsite well enough without a flashlight or a lantern. Predictably, only one other person was awake—probably the person on watch, Cassie surmised. From the shape of their dark silhouette, Cassie guessed Glenn. She smiled; out of everyone at the camp, she liked him best. Though it was difficult to _not_ like someone after escaping flesh-eating monsters with them.

"Hi," she whispered when she was right behind him. His shoulders jerked in surprise and he whirled around, a shaking hand on his mouth.

"Jesus! Sorry," he replied, lowering his hand down over his heart, which Cassie assumed was beating out of his chest in surprise. "Scared the crap out of me."

"Sorry, didn't mean to." She actually meant her apology. Normally, she got a kick out of startling people, but her eyes zeroed in on the butt of his gun poking out of his jeans' pocket.

That could've ended violently.

"What are you doing up so early?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Just used to waking up at this time."

He hummed in response, probably tired from a shift of watch. She wished he wasn't though; it was nice to have new people to talk to. Of course, she loved Anna and they got along well, but sometimes she was a little too stoic for Cassie's tastes.

"How long have you been here?" she asked, gesturing to the campsite.

"Early yesterday," he said. "We went on a run right after we got here."

"Oh." They shifted uncomfortably in silence. It was annoying; just yesterday, the two of them were talking and laughing together in the truck and now it was like they'd never met before. Maybe she'd been away from people for too long, she thought to herself. She'd forgotten how to socialize.

"Look, I don't want to be weird," Cassie said brashly. "But I don't want it to be uncomfortable between us just because you guys don't trust me and Anna." Glenn looked startled that she was calling out the awkwardness.

She surprised herself at her boldness, actually; when she and Anna got into their rare spats, they never talked about it. Instead, they waited until they absolutely had to communicate again, usually when a group of biters had them up a tree.

"I mean, we never know when we're gonna die—" here, she gulped and suppressed a shiver, "—so I don't want to have any regrets ever; not if I can do something about it." She nodded decisively. "So, it's not weird anymore, is it?"

She half-expected him to gawk at her until she exploded from discomfort. Instead, she was pleasantly surprised when he cracked a smile and shook his head. "No, not weird. You're right."

"Great." Cassie scratched her face, trying to cover her smile. It was nice talking to people, especially when they seemed to be somewhat normal, not superhuman like Anna seemed. She would follow Anna to the ends of the Earth—and she had—but she was not a skilled conversationalist.

"How old are you again?" Glenn asked, half-jokingly and half-serious.

"Twelve," she replied, a little giddily. "Anna says I'm old for my age."

"I'll say." He yawned hugely.

She frowned. "How long have you been up?"

He rubbed his eyes, sighing. "I don't know…I slept for three hours and I've been on watch for, like, two?"

"Ugh, gross."

"Tell me about it."

At that moment, Rick poked his head out of his tent, glanced around for biters, before he made his way over, much to Glenn's obvious relief.

"Any trouble?" Rick asked quietly, relaxing when Glenn shook his head.

"Nah, it was weirdly quiet," he said, yawning and stretching his arms over his head. He patted Rick on the shoulder and ruffled Cassie's hair, saying, "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go pass out in the car."

Cassie aimed a half-hearted kick at his legs, which he somehow managed to dodge even in his exhausted state, as Rick waved him off. He passed the scary redneck— Daryl, Cassie remembered hearing last night—hopping out of the bed of his truck. They exchanged some quiet words, Glenn letting out a chuckle at something that Daryl said, before Daryl sauntered over to Rick and Cassie. His eyes narrowed when he spotted the little girl at Rick's side.

"You going hunting today?" Rick questioned.

"I gotta. Only enough food left for breakfast," he said, stretching out his neck. It couldn't have been comfortable sleeping in the hard bed of a truck, Cassie figured. She almost felt guilty about taking the tent with Anna, but ultimately she couldn't bring herself to care. If she and Anna had slept in trees and on rocks for weeks, then she was sure this redneck could handle one night on metal.

Rick nodded. "Alright. Headin' out now?"

"No time like the present."

"I'll go too," Cassie piped up. Rick and Daryl started, like they'd forgotten she was standing right there.

"Uh, no," Daryl snorted. Rick nodded in agreement.

"You'll be safer back here," he said kneeling down so they were at the same level. She rolled her eyes; she hated it when people felt like they needed to crouch down so that she'd understand. "And I don't want Anna to wake up and find out that you're gone."

"She won't care." It was a half-truth; Anna liked knowing where Cassie was at all times, just like Cassie preferred knowing where Anna was. But she also knew that Cassie could handle herself and that she was a great gatherer to Anna's hunter.

"I ain't looking out for no kid, princess," Daryl bit as nastily as he dared. "We need food."

"Look, if you don't go with me, then I'll just go on my own," she replied just as nastily. "And I think Anna would be more pissed if she found out I had gone hunting by myself than if I went with you."

His blue eyes flashed in annoyance, but Cassie was too accustomed to seeing that look from Anna to back down. The two crossed their arms and glared at each other.

"The hell am I doing?" Daryl muttered to himself finally, pushing past the two of them. "Arguing with a twelve year old. Jesus."

"Hold on; I have to get my bag," Cassie said, beaming and darting over to their truck, ignoring Daryl's whine.

"Rick, I ain't gonna catch anythin' if I have to watch a kid," she heard him mutter under his breath. She sighed. She wished Anna wasn't passed out; she would've vouched for her. Sure, Cassie wasn't burly like Daryl or as accurate with a gun as Anna, but she was smart. And fast. And quiet, which she was sure Daryl knew from the several times she'd snuck up on him.

But frankly, the argument was getting tired. After checking to make sure she had some small Tupperware containers and numerous Ziploc bags, Cassie shouldered her backpack and made her way back over to the arguing men.

"I'm leaving now," she said as loudly as she dared, though by this time people should have been awake for at least an hour. Sunlight spilled through the trees that surrounded their camp, golden beams streaming over the three of them. "When Anna wakes up, tell her I went hunting." And without waiting for a response, she marched past them and into the trees.

Not thirty seconds later, Daryl ran up beside her, swearing and spitting his annoyance. "Don't wander off, ya got that, girl?"

She smiled up at him and chirped, "Sure thing, grumpy-pants." He rolled his eyes at her and slipped his crossbow from his shoulder.

They walked in silence for half an hour and in that time, Daryl only caught one squirrel. She could feel the waves of frustration rolling off of him. She remembered the group talking about having no food the night before and sympathized all too well. Just a few months before, Anna and Cassie had been living off of pine bark and grubs, and that was on a _good_ day.

She wasn't one to stereotype—that was Anna's job; she profiled every person that they'd ever come across—but she didn't think this group could have lived the way the two of them had for so long. It really annoyed her to hear Rick and the rest say that she'd be safer off with their group than she would be with Anna because, really, what the hell had they done? They had _tents_. With _cots_. That's practically a five-star hotel nowadays.

And they only had one person who could hunt for ten of them. Sure, Cassie couldn't shoot an arrow to save her life and her aim was pretty bad too, but Anna only had to hunt for two people. Not to mention the fact that Cassie had an eidetic memory that she used to memorize lists of edible plants and maps of new areas.

Speaking of which… "Stop!" she hissed. Daryl whirled around, aiming his crossbow over her head, blue eyes scanning the woods around them for biters.

She smiled and said, "At ease, I just didn't want you to step on the tubers," kneeling down beside an unassuming bunch of leaves.

"Jesus Christ," he rolled his eyes again, but stood over her while she dug though her backpack for a plastic bag to stick the dirty tubers in. Though she knew he was just guarding her because he didn't want to go back and have to explain why a walker had gotten her, she appreciated his patience.

"How d'you know those're safe to eat?" he asked, nonchalant with a current of curiosity in his tone. "Thought you're a Yankee."

Wiping the dirt from her hands, she stood up and zipped her backpack up with a little grin. "I have an eidetic memory."

When he gave her a blank look, she clarified, "Photographic memory. We got cornered by a bunch of biters once, so we locked ourselves up in a bookstore." She shrugged. "The botany section was weirdly extensive."

He tilted his head towards her, to indicate that he heard her, but otherwise acted uninterested. She figured he was one of those stoic types who had to act cool all of the time for some reason. Anna was like that too, so she was getting accustomed to dealing with their type.

"C'mon, kid," he muttered and gestured for Cassie to take the lead. She grinned and bounded forward.

* * *

Her friendliness was somehow refreshing and annoying at the same time. Refreshing in that the friendliest person in the group was probably Glenn, who was chirpy only by apocalypse standards. And annoying in that Daryl found friendliness inherently annoying.

Still, she didn't talk more than she had to, which Daryl liked. Even Rick—who'd grown notably quieter since the farm— had a tendency to chatter on the few hunts he tagged along for. It scared the animals away. More importantly, it made Daryl uncomfortable. Daryl didn't perform well when he was uncomfortable.

Of course, he hadn't been performing well when he _was_ comfortable; not lately, anyway. It was frustrating and, frankly, unprecedented. Winter was coming; it wasn't already here. So why did it seem like all of the animals were hibernating early this year?

If they were truly retreating to their winter homes, it was a bad sign for the group in more ways than one. Animals hibernated early when they sensed a rough winter coming. That meant a rough winter for the survivors as well as a shortage of meat. That did not bode well for them; most of their food was meat.

Daryl watched the young girl crouch down beside a boring clump of leaves. She rubbed the leaves, a thoughtful expression on her face before yanking the plant up by the base. A thick root popped out of the soil and Cassie smiled before sealing it away in another Ziploc bag.

Daryl wasn't really in the habit of thinking of people as tools, but Cassie was _useful_. She knew which plants were edible—probably which ones were medicinal as well—she followed instruction fairly well, and Glenn was convinced she was a human GPS. She was the Swiss army knife of people. And considering that their group was mostly made up of plain old knives, he figured they could use someone as multipurpose as Cassie.

"Yo, kid." Her head popped up from where it was bent in a cluster of wild berry bushes. She kind of reminded him of a rabbit, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. "Ya know how to hunt? Or d'you just gather?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm kind of a terrible shot," she admitted sheepishly. "Anna's the hunter; I just get the side dishes."

That made sense. Anna had her bow; Cassie had her brain. Together, they worked. They didn't need anyone else. In fact, in most cases, Daryl would guess that anyone else joining the two of them would only weaken them.

Weaken them, yes. Strengthen the third party, most definitely.

Maybe he'd been too hasty to reject Anna as a prospective new group member. He suspected that the trouble they'd had with her stemmed from the fact that they'd (unknowingly) threatened Cassie's safety by bursting into their base and demanding their supplies. As long as they protected the kid, Anna would be loyal.

* * *

She couldn't remember the last time she woke up with a headache this intense. Maybe it was two years ago, after a night of drinking with her Irish coworkers on St. Patrick's Day. Actually, this headache might have even topped that.

She sat up slowly, gasping and groaning when her sensitive skin stretched and twisted at her movements. What the hell happened?

Bits and pieces swam around in her head. A herd of biters pounding against a glass window, blood dripping down her arms and chin, Cassie holding a gun to a man's head…

"Cassie!" she whispered harshly to an empty tent. Whose tent was this? Dragging her aching body from the cot, she looked around. The backpack that she never went anywhere without lay at her feet, but other than that, the tent was bare. Cassie's backpack was nowhere to be seen.

She checked herself over, making sure she hadn't gotten bitten or lost an extremity without knowing it. All in one piece. Well, except for the road rash on her arms, legs, and chin. And the stitches in her left arm. And the possible concussion that pounded through her head.

"Damn…" she hissed once she'd taken inventory of her wounds. "God, damn it…"

_Well, no point in staying in here any longer than I have to_, she thought, slowing crawling to her backpack.

They kept everything they couldn't live without in their backpacks. MREs, water canteens, filtration devices, first aid kits, flashlights, lighters, a change of clothes, raingear, bungee cords, and weapons upon weapons. It was a hatchet she looked for now, a secondary weapon to her bowie knife, which she always had strapped to her side. But that was nowhere to be seen, so she riffled through the organized chaos for her second favorite melee weapon.

After a frantic five minutes of searching, she bit back a curse. _Nothing. What the fuck_, she seethed silently for a moment. She considered making a run for it, but she didn't know who—or what—was out there.

Sighing, she crawled to the entrance, doing her best not to aggravate her wounds with little success. Unzipping the door, she stepped out into the clearing.

A young blonde girl talking to a short boy wearing a sheriff's hat was the first to notice her emerge from the tent. She opened her mouth as if to greet her, but then stopped like she'd decided that was a bad idea. Instead, she tapped the person beside her, an older man that vaguely reminded her of Santa Claus.

"You're awake," he said, nodding and walking over. She shrunk back, instinctively, and reached behind her for the hunting knife she kept tucked into the back of her pants. Her hand ran over empty space.

He held up his hands in a gesture of goodwill. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said in a soothing southern drawl. For a moment, Anna could pretend she was talking to Malcolm, the older gentlemen who used to come into the diner she worked at every day. He'd tell her stories about his army days and tease her when men would come in and glance at her appreciatively. She used to think he was a bit of a busybody, but now… well, she'd kill to listen to hear his grandfatherly voice again.

"My name is Hershel Greene," he said, taking another step. The young blonde who'd first noticed her watched her with wide eyes while the boy stared at her with a guarded expression and crossed arms. "Do you remember what happened to you?"

"I…" her eyes darted over to a dark-haired man with piercing blue eyes stalking over from the cluster of cars; one of them, she noted in relief, was her truck. "I…there were biters…"

"Yeah, there were," the younger man said. Closer up, she saw dark circles under his eyes, heavy with weariness. Though she was sure that if she looked in a mirror, she'd find very similar lines and marks on her own face. He looked familiar, but his name wasn't coming to mind…

_A dark-haired man with blue eyes burst through the door…he raised his revolver and pulled the trigger…_

"You shot me!" she exclaimed, hand reaching up and gripping her gunshot wound as tightly as she could with her tired fingers. He almost looked amused at her accusation.

"Yeah, well, you had a gun pointed at my people," he shot back. "You're lucky I didn't kill you."

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "Oh, right. I'm _sorry_ for existing. I'm _so_ glad you decided to spare me," she said, sarcasm dripping from every word. By now, the rest of the camp had heard their argument and made their way over, curious about their previously comatose guest.

"Do you really want to push your luck, ma'am?" he growled. If she were a weaker woman, she would have winced at the fire in his voice, but she didn't scare so easily.

"Oh, thank god!" One of the women said, rushing forward when she saw Anna up on her feet. She was tall, tan, and lean with green eyes and short brown hair. When she grinned at her, white teeth shining, her whole face lit up. "We were so worried about you!"

"Uh…"

"I'm Maggie," she continued, a soft twang in her voice, "Maggie Greene. We didn't really get to introduce ourselves…"

_Yeah, can we save introductions for when we're _not_ about to get eaten?_

"Rick," Anna said quietly. The tired looking man looked over at her. "Right, Rick...and Maggie, and…Glenn?" The Asian man standing beside Maggie smiled weakly.

Then, "Where's Cassie?"

Rick and Hershel exchanged panicked glances, which Anna immediately picked up on. "Where is she?" she seethed.

"Daryl took her hunting," Hershel answered softly, like that would calm her down.

"Who the _hell_ is Daryl?" she snapped at him.

"The dude with the crossbow," a large black man said. He was one of the men she and Cassie had encountered back in Mulberry, she remembered, but she hadn't ever learned his name. "Don't worry; she's in safe hands."

Well, _that_ didn't make her feel reassured, but there wasn't much she could do about that. Besides, from what she remembered of crossbow-man, he hadn't seemed clever enough to be able to take down her indestructible charge, even if he had several feet and a hundred pounds on Cassie.

"She'd better be," she retorted lamely, unable to come up with a better threat. It was hard to sound intimidating when you were rocking the world's most powerful headache.

"Where are my weapons?" she asked next. In honesty, she was almost as upset about their absence as she was about Cassie's. Weapons were worth more than gold nowadays.

"Cassie gave them to us for safekeeping," Rick replied.

Anna grimaced internally. _That fucking kid_. She'd die for Cassie, but she was far too trusting for her taste, way more trusting than Anna had been at her age. "Can I get them back?" she asked, trying to sound polite, but she thought it came off condescending.

Rick lifted an eyebrow. "I don't think so."

That was the answer she expected. She frowned, groaning when the movement inflamed her chin. Fingering a thick patch of gauze on her chin, she asked, "What the hell happened to me?"

"You jumped out of a moving vehicle and hit the ground hard," the big black guy said, awe in his voice. Well, at least she knew one person wouldn't shoot her for breathing, maybe two if the look on Maggie's face was anything to go by.

"Right…" she said, making a face when her hand brushed across a swath of gauze on her arms. A vague memory of rolling out of an SUV came to mind. She blinked and shook her head. Hershel stepped forward, hesitance on his face melting into concern when he saw her discomfort.

"You need to take it easy for a while," he said, reaching to place two fingers on her wrist, presumably to take her pulse. Completely harmless, but nonetheless, Anna jerked her hand back before he could touch her. Rick and Glenn surged forward, obviously afraid she was going to pistol whip them all to death. She was definitely in no shape to be doing more than sitting and breathing quietly. But if they all thought she was strong enough to take them on, then maybe they wouldn't bother her.

Hershel held up his hands as a gesture of peace, motioning to her before he tried to touch her again. She hesitated before nodding.

"Where are we?" she asked, trying to ignore the feel of another person's skin on hers. She couldn't remember the last person she'd touched that wasn't trying to rip her guts out with its teeth.

"Why do you want to know?" Rick countered, hands going to his hips. She rolled her eyes and nodded over towards the Hyundai. There was a map spread out over the hood, guns weighing down the edges.

"I see your map, so don't pretend you don't know. And I know you don't believe me, but I'm not gonna use my fuckin' Iphone to relay your coordinates to the rest of my 'group'," she punctuated 'group' with air quotations, wincing when the movement yanked her taped up skin.

Rick clenched his jaw, thinking about what to say, apparently; the next thing he said was, "I'm not comfortable letting you know where we are."

Anna almost scoffed and spat in annoyance, but she managed to rein in her anger. No matter how good it felt to verbally smack people down, it wasn't helping her get what she wanted. And Anna knew how to get the things she wanted. Shut up and nut up.

She cleared her throat, expression softening a bit. "Look, Cas and I are heading to New Orleans. I haven't seen a map in a while and it would really help if you could point us out." At that, she tried to stand, road rashes shrieking and head roaring, to check out the map. Glenn leapt forward again, though this time, he grabbed her elbow to keep her from toppling over.

"Easy!" he exclaimed.

She shook her head, saying, "I want to see the map."

"I'll help you," he offered and Anna almost snapped at him again. But she knew when to keep her mouth shut, so she grabbed his arm as a crutch, gave him a tight smile, and limped over to the car where she collapsed against the hood, panting in effort. She grimaced. Her injuries did not bode well, she thought. If a crowd of biters blew through right now, she'd be hosed as the rest of these chuckleheads took off without her.

Rick came up beside her, watching her carefully. Anna wanted to smack him or make a snide comment but she held her tongue. _Just keep it together, just until you can get out of here in one piece_, she thought.

Only the black guy, Maggie, and Glenn sidled up beside her, staring at the map. The others hung back, watching her with guarded eyes. She glanced over her shoulder at them, smirking when the small woman with short grey hair flinched under her gaze and placed a protective arm around the blonde girl. _I'm the big bad wolf, girl. You'd better be afraid._

"Hey." Rick's voice snapped her back to attention. "Don't even look at them."

_Whatever._ "You gonna point us out, chief?" she said, unable to keep a hint of acid out of her voice. She glanced down at the map, a detailed map of northern Georgia. The other side probably had the rest of the state. While Cassie could recall street names and configurations with eerie accuracy, Anna appreciated physical maps.

Rick still looked wary. She sighed and, at last, he pointed a finger at a thin black line. They were further south than she realized, she noted with a grimace. Even if she and Cassie were on their way to New Orleans, every step closer to the city made her more and more anxious.

"We met you here," Glenn said, pointing at a brown line with tiny text beside it. _Mulberry_, it said.

"Where was my truck?" she asked. He dragged his finger up the line, further north. She nodded. "And we're here?"

Rick nodded and she grimaced. Altitude dropped pretty quickly, she knew, and she felt exponentially more anxious with every foot dropped.

He seemed to notice her discomfort, but he didn't pry. Instead, he gestured for the other three around them to back off. _Here we go_, she thought.

"I can't allow you to stay," he began in a low tone, glancing furtively over his shoulder at the rest of his group.

"We don't want to," she said, frowning.

He went on anyway, "But I can't let you go in good conscience without offering a place for Cassie."

She looked at him. She supposed she should've seen it coming; the guy was curt, but he had a hero complex the size of Kentucky. She'd noticed by the way he angled their bodies so that his was always between hers and the rest of his group. Maybe he figured if she went berserk and tried to lunge at them, he would be there to take the first hit. She couldn't really say anything, though; she'd been doing the same for Cassie since they'd met.

Rick watched her carefully, waiting for a response. She didn't have one. She should have just said 'no'; that's what Cassie's response would have been if she was there. That, and maybe a childish stomp of her foot; she was only twelve years old, after all, no matter how smart she was.

It didn't matter, she decided. Instead, she rubbed her forehead and asked, louder, "Do you know what the altitude is?"

Rick obviously hadn't expected a response so off-topic, so it took him a second to gather a coherent thought. In that short moment, Glenn perked up and answered, "Yeah, there was a sign that said Mulberry was around 1,500 feet above sea level."

"Why?" Rick questioned. She shook her head.

"And how long have y'all been here?" she pressed.

Maggie walked over with the black guy and Glenn. She shrugged and said, "I'd say 24 hours."

_Too long already_. "As soon as Cassie and crossbow get back, I'd get out of here," she said.

The black guy let out a small laugh, "Why?"

She took a deep breath, "Because you're about to be overrun."

* * *

**I'm not totally pleased with this one, but I've been sitting on it for so long that I'm just posting it. **

**This chapter is way shorter than the first two, I know. But when I started writing this, I didn't have chapters at all; it was just one hulking mass of text and I had to go through and chop it into pieces. Anyway, since this one is so short, I'm going to try to get another one up soon.**

**Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

There was a beat as Rick tried to process her words. "I'm sorry, what?"

The corner of her mouth twitched in irritation, as it had several times since she'd woken up. Rick appreciated her efforts to curb her nasty remarks, but still found it difficult to treat her with anything more than contempt. "I'm not threatening you. It's the truth."

"How can you be so sure?" he asked, genuinely curious. She had tensed when he told her where they were and now she seemed certain that their camp was in danger.

She sighed in annoyance. "I don't know how y'all are still alive. Or how you couldn't have figured this out already."

There was some shifting from T-Dog and chagrined expressions from Maggie and Glenn. Rick just rolled his eyes. She pointedly looked at each one of them in turn before continuing, running her fingers over the rash on her chin. "The higher up you are, the safer you are from biters. It's just gravity."

"We're pretty high up now," Maggie said. Anna shook her head, wincing when her wounds stretched.

"Maybe," she said, looking over at the mountain that shielded their clearing on one side. She nodded at it, "but that's a problem."

The rest of them looked at the mountain. They'd specifically chosen that spot so they would only have to defend themselves from one side, if the need arose. Rick didn't see how that was a problem.

"That mountain protects us on one side," T-Dog said. "This place is safe."

Anna was losing her patience. "No, it isn't! You're in a valley, for Christ's sake. You've basically locked yourselves in. Not to mention the fact that you're on the low end. Biters are like water; they move _downwards_, not upwards."

"I've seen geeks climb uphill," Glenn said, though a sliver of worry bled through his tone. She shook her head.

"Only when they've got a reason to," she replied. "It's only a matter of time until a herd comes through. I guarantee it."

Maggie and Glenn shot each other panicked looks while T-Dog looked at Rick; for reassurance or instruction, Rick wasn't sure.

Keeping mind to lower his voice—he didn't want to panic the others—he hissed at Anna, "What do you expect me to do? Daryl and your girl are still out there; I'm not leaving until they get back."

She snapped, "Do you think I'd abandon Cassie to save my own skin?" Her indignant voice carried over to where Lori and Carol were talking in low tones, cutting them off mid-conversation.

"Calm down; no one is abandoning _anyone_," Maggie soothed, shooting a meaningful look at Rick with her last word. She was still trying to convince him, he figured.

"Just pack up and get ready to go," Anna said, shrugging off Maggie's hand on her shoulder. "And pray to whatever higher power you believe in for an uneventful couple of hours."

Rick grimaced, shaking his head. "I've got to talk to the rest of my people."

She didn't seem pleased by his response, but it wasn't like she had any power. She could barely stand, a fact that Maggie had noticed, if the way she hovered around Anna was any indication.

Rick waved over the others, not wanting to tell them to pack up. They all knew that this camp wasn't permanent, but was it too much to ask to settle down for one _goddamn_ week?

"We need to pack up," he said and the others opened their mouths to protest. He held up a hand. "I know. Anna doesn't think this place is safe."

"Are there others?" Carol asked quietly, her eyes darting over to Maggie and Anna. Maggie carefully sat Anna down with her feet hanging out of the open car door before joining the rest of their meeting.

Rick shook his head. "I don't think she's part of a group."

Glenn nodded in agreement. "She doesn't exactly play well with others," he said, repeating the words Rick had said to Daryl when he broke the news about Merle, all the way back in Atlanta. They certainly weren't too similar—Merle being a racist redneck and Anna being a small, belligerent woman—but Rick trusted Anna about as much as he had trusted Merle.

"But she made a good point," Maggie added. "Those walkers in Mulberry are gonna be on us in no time."

Lori asked, "What do you mean?" Her hand strayed to her stomach, as it did now when there was danger. Rick tried to ignore the twinge of anger that throbbed in his chest at the movement as he swallowed thickly.

"We're downhill; they ain't got no better place to go than here," T-Dog said. "'Sides, we're probably the first piece of ass they've seen in a long while. They ain't just gonna let us go."

"You're talking like they can actually think," Hershel said, his brow furrowing in worry.

"I don't know if they can think, but they sure as hell can remember where their food went," Rick replied. "I don't want to risk our lives."

"This could be a trap," Carol murmured. She turned her eyes to Rick. "I know you said you don't think she's part of a group, but what if she's trying to lead us to them?"

Of course, he'd thought of that. But he didn't want to even think of that possibility, not now. Besides, he trusted his instincts and they told him that those girls were alone. "We knew we couldn't stay here for long," Rick said. "Let's just make sure we're ready to go if we need to."

"How soon should we be packed up?" Maggie asked in a hushed voice.

"I want us ready to leave within the next two hours," he said lowly, glancing once again over his shoulder at where Anna leant against the Hyundai, eyes fixed on the map.

They exchanged glances with one another, Carol looking ready to fight to the death while Lori seemed resigned to their new fate. Nevertheless, both women nodded before Carol joined Beth in gutting the smallest tent.

Lori stayed at Rick's side with a hopeful expression on her face. "Rick—"

"You should probably help T and Maggie pack up our tent," he said before she could say anything else. He didn't want to hear anything she had to say. He was done listening.

Shocked, she closed her mouth, nodded, and shuffled away, but not before Rick caught a glimpse of a tear in the corner of her eye. He swallowed a lump in his throat.

As he turned away to help Hershel lift a heavy box of supplies, he heard Lori say, "Carl?"

He glanced around the clearing instinctively, counting off group members. Hershel, Beth, Maggie, T-Dog, Glenn, Carol, Lori… _where is Carl?_

"Carl!" he repeated in a louder voice, whipping around to catch Lori's panicked gaze. The others dropped what they were doing and gathered around Rick and Lori.

"What is it?" T-Dog asked.

"Carl's gone," Lori said tearfully.

"We'll check around; he can't have gotten far," Glenn said immediately, nodding to Maggie before running off out of the clearing. Maggie followed, but not before squeezing Lori's shoulder and murmuring words of comfort in her ear. Rick didn't have the patience to comfort anyone—not now, especially not when his son was lost— so he appreciated Maggie's care. Especially because of the rift that had grown between his wife and him.

"Is he in one of the cars?" he asked her curtly, because he didn't have time for soft words. She raised a trembling hand to her mouth and shook her head.

"I don't know, but he would have come out by now, wouldn't he?" she replied.

He sighed, motioning for T-Dog to follow him as he said, "Let's check the highway." T-Dog nodded, grabbing his crowbar. Lori eyed it with nervousness. Rick hoped he wouldn't have to use it. "Lori, I need you to keep packing up with Carol; I still want us to be ready to leave."

"But what if you don't find him?" she asked anxiously, wringing her hands. "We can't leave without him—"

"I will _not _leave _my_ son out here, no matter what," he hissed in response, making Lori flinch under his hard gaze as well as the inflection on the word 'my'. He probably should have said it more gently, but he was offended that Lori thought that he didn't care about Carl. He had the wellbeing of the rest of the group to worry about, not just Carl's. "We'll find him."

He turned away from her, catching Hershel's eye. He nodded towards their belligerent guest meaningfully, earning an affirmative nod back. _I'll watch her, _it said. Rick was grateful and slipped off through the trees with T-Dog.

"Carl!" Rick called as loudly as he dared as he pushed aside bushes and branches. Alongside him, T-Dog called as well.

After a few minutes of searching the outskirts of their camp, T-Dog huffed, "Have you considered puttin' the kid on a leash?"

Rick chuckled tiredly, wiping his face with one hand, and replied, "I'll consider it."

Rick had thought Carl was over this phase; wandering off without telling anyone and general childlike curiosity towards everything unfamiliar. It couldn't have hit Carl at a worse time in his life—of course it had to be now, when most of the state's population had been turned into flesh-eating monsters. But apparently, he needed to have another serious talk with the kid about sticking close. And it had to be from him; Lori's words didn't hold much weight for Carl anymore.

He sighed, his thoughts inevitably straying to Lori. Things weren't the same between them, not even close. She'd been horrified to learn that he'd killed Shane, going as far as to push him away when she found out. _Everyone'd_ been horrified to learn that they were all infected and angered that Rick kept it to himself.

_Well, I'm angry too,_ he thought, kicking aside a rock in his path with malice. He was only trying to keep up morale; if they'd known that all of their efforts to survive were for nothing, what would stop them from ending their lives swiftly as they clutched onto what they thought their only salvation could be? No, Rick carried the burden of knowledge that Jenner bestowed on him. And what a heavy burden it was, and no one to share it with.

Lori didn't seem to get that. All she saw was the blood on his hands, _Shane's _blood, without seeing how tainted that blood had become. She didn't see how deeply she'd hurt him by sleeping with his best friend, by pushing him away when all he needed was someone to share his burden with, by blaming him for so much death. She—all of them—didn't see that _Rick_ was their salvation, not Death.

And they wondered why this wasn't a democracy anymore.

A strangled yelp cut through his brooding. His head snapped up towards the sound, his blood running cold. "Carl!"

He tore off past T-Dog, not waiting to see if T had his back. He _had _to get to his son; he had to protect him…

When he saw him at last, Carl was on his back on the ground, panic in his eyes as he tried to fight off a walker that must have been just a child when she turned. A thick branch was in his hands, pressed up into the little walker's throat as she snarled and snapped her teeth at him. Rick sprinted to his side, yanked it up by the back of its dirty pink dress, and shoved a knife up into the back of its skull.

Carl stared, panting, as his father dropped the corpse twice-dead and held out a hand to his son for him to take. Carl reached out, but his eyes strayed to something behind Rick. "Dad!"

Rick whirled around with his knife at the ready a moment too late; the walker was on him. The knife fell uselessly onto the forest floor as Rick fell, fighting off the larger walker. This one was much stronger than the last, he noted with some difficulty.

"Close your eyes and mouth," Carl instructed, fumbling with his gun. It had a makeshift suppressor on the end of it, but Rick knew that the shot would be loud enough to draw the attention of the walkers around if their yelling hadn't already. He acquiesced anyway.

_Bang!_ The sound of a suppressed shot fired. The walker's cold blood spattered over his face. Rick exhaled slowly, before shoving the walker's body off of him. A cloth of some kind nudged into his hand and Rick used it to wipe his face clean.

"Nice shot," he said, glancing at the obliterated skull of his attacker. Clean, straight through the side of its head. "Now, what the hell are you doin' out here?"

Carl looked at his feet, chagrined. But before Rick could haul his ass back to camp for a proper tongue-lashing, Maggie, Glenn, and T-Dog came stumbling out of the trees, weapons at the ready.

"We heard a shot," Maggie panted.

Rick just looked at the dead walker and back to her, eyebrow raised. She relaxed, as did T-Dog. Glenn remained at the ready, worry furrowing his brow.

"We should get back," he said. "If the walkers haven't already heard us looking for Carl, they definitely heard that."

Carl mumbled, "I'm sorry," watching T-Dog, Glenn, and Maggie jog back into camp, barely even looking at the kid. He was certainly getting to be old enough to know better and they knew that. Rick picked up his knife and wiped it on the leaves beneath his feet.

"We'll talk about this later," Rick said, probably harder than he should have. Carl only nodded.

Suddenly, a scream that sounded like Beth's rang out around them. Carl turned panicked eyes onto his father. They ran, dodging the few trees that separated them from the rest of their group. When they stumbled into the clearing, they were met with the sight of walkers shambling down the hill—_just as Anna predicted_, Rick thought, grimacing as he slashed at a walker that wandered too close to Carl.

"Don't shoot," he ordered when he joined the others. "Not unless you have to."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hershel herd the others incapable of fighting towards the cars. Lori, Carol, and Carl had locked themselves into the Hyundai while Hershel and Beth took the truck. Carl seemed to put up a fight, but a sharp look from the doctor ended all discussion on the matter. Rick was grateful for that.

There weren't too many—no more than a dozen in the clearing at a time, Rick guessed—but there didn't seem to be an end in sight; each walker that was hacked down was replaced by another that shuffled out of the trees.

"Rick!" T-Dog said, giving him just enough time to whirl around and shove a knife into the walker's skull. Glenn and Maggie kept close to the cars, defending the people inside of them with fervor. Anna hadn't locked herself in her car, like Rick had thought she should with her gunshot wound. Instead, she stabbed the ones that drew too close to their backs, making sure none of them were caught unawares.

"They keep coming!" Maggie cried, kicking the knees of a particularly tall walker so that it fell to her height. She swung her machete down, cleaving its skull into two. "We can't stay here!"

"What about Daryl and Cassie?" Glenn asked. He slammed his foot down on a fallen walker's head. It splattered up his leg. He wiped her forehead of sweat, panting, "We can't leave without them; they could come back to a bloodbath!"

"Then we'll warn them," Anna rasped, suddenly yanking the gun out of the back of Maggie's waistband. Before any of them could react, she took aim at a fast walker and fired.

_Bang!_ Its head shattered. Quickly, she took another shot at one that T-Dog was tussling with. _Bang!_

"What the hell are you doing?" Rick yelled, pulling out his own gun to point at her.

"I'm warning them," she replied, a little too casually for Rick's taste, slipping the gun back into Maggie's pocket.

"Yeah, and ringing the dinner bell for every walker in the valley!" Glenn hissed, clearly annoyed that she could have easily used Maggie's gun to shoot them.

"Well, let's go then," she said, stabbing another walker that tried to reach for Maggie's short hair. Maggie spun around and nodded her thanks to the other woman.

Rick holstered his gun, dodging a few walkers that Glenn and T-Dog dispatched quickly, and grabbed her arm. She hissed in pain; it was her left arm, the one he'd shot less than a day before. "If you are leading my people into some kind of trap, you are _done_," he hissed lowly, only loud enough for her to hear.

She didn't flinch at his threat. Instead, she stared stonily back, jerking her head in agreement.

"Rick, we've got to go _now_," Maggie said, darting between a few slower walkers to grab some of the packed bags still left in the clearing. "I'll drive Anna's truck."

"Daryl and Cassie," Glenn said. "They won't know where to go!"

Anna yanked her knife out of a dead walker's skull, waving T-Dog over to grab her heavy bag. If those stitches on her arm hadn't busted open by now, then they definitely would if she moved her arm anymore. She looked over at Glenn. "Leave that to me."

Killing another walker with ease, he nodded and said, "We'll leave Daryl's bike."

"Alright," Rick agreed, getting sick of seeing more and more walkers fill the clearing. In a minute, they wouldn't be able to hold them off anymore. They needed to leave _now_, Daryl be damned, though that thought made him grimace. "Get in the cars, we're going."

No one needed to be told twice. Glenn and T-Dog both ran to the Dodge truck, Glenn staring the ignition while T-Dog took shotgun. Maggie and Anna nodded to Rick before Maggie leapt into the driver's seat of the new truck.

Rick had to fight through a couple of walkers to make it to the driver's seat of the Hyundai, but managed to slam the door shut before one could grab his arm. As he fastened his seatbelt, Carol cried from the backseat, "What are we doing? We can't leave; Daryl and Cassie are still out there!" Lori stared at him from the passenger's seat, but said nothing as usual.

He started the car anyway, pulling out in front of the others onto the tiny side road that they'd taken to the clearing. "Carol, it's too dangerous to wait for them. We need to regroup somewhere else, somewhere safer."

"But they won't know where to go!"

Rick thought she had a point; he wasn't sure how Anna planned on informing the hunter and her companion of their whereabouts, especially because Rick didn't even know where they were going. But he had the immediate safety of the group to think about. He definitely didn't want to leave Daryl behind—not only was he their primary food source; he had become a close friend and a valuable ally. But if anyone could find them again, it would be Daryl.

"Daryl will find us, don't worry," he soothed, gunning it to the asphalt highway, turning south. In his rearview mirror, he saw their truck follow, Anna's Nissan a hundred meters behind.

"You can't know that," he heard Carol whisper as Carl looked at his hands with tears in his eyes.

* * *

_Bang! Bang!_ All of the birds in the trees around them took off at the sound of a pair of gunshots a few miles away. Daryl's head snapped up at the sound.

"The hell?" he muttered. Cassie was a few feet away, crouched in the dirt, examining the leaves of a berry bush. When she heard the gun, she stood abruptly.

"We need to go back," she said, not waiting for him to follow before running off back towards camp.

He sighed, running after her. He agreed, of course; two gunshots was a strange thing to hear. But he didn't like taking orders from a kid. On principle, it seemed like a stupid thing to do.

"Do you think they're being attacked?" she asked, repeating the question when she noticed he wasn't immediately behind her.

He shrugged, "Why shoot otherwise?"

She pursed her lips, her face grim. "One shot is an accident," she muttered under her breath. "Two is deliberate. And three is defense."

Daryl didn't really get what she was saying by that. One shot _was_ an accident, though; when Carl had gotten shot, there was only one shot. It had spooked the rest of them to hear it.

She halted, so abruptly that Daryl nearly bowled her over. She stared at him with huge eyes. "They're leaving."

Daryl gave her a little nudge to get her running again. "How'd you get there?" he asked, humoring her. He saw that she was a smart kid, but she was still just a kid. She needed someone to keep her calm; last thing Daryl needed was a hysterical kid collapsing when he needed her sharp.

She ran faster, panting, "There are biters in the camp, too many to handle. Someone shot two bullets to call us back; one would have seemed like an accident while three would have seemed like they had to defend themselves. Two is to let us know that they can't stay."

Daryl snorted, shaking his head. "Dunno, that seems kinda specific."

She rolled her eyes and Daryl was pretty sure she understood that he was only indulging her. "Okay, two shots is a signal Anna and I use. The point is that they're leaving."

He didn't reply. Her logic made sense and that worried him. They ran in silence for a good half an hour; they'd been roaming the forest for hours before they heard the shots, zigzagging all over the place. Daryl guessed they got about three miles out. A half an hour at this pace would bring them close to camp.

"Hold on," he panted, the few squirrels he'd managed to kill bouncing on the string around his neck. Cassie turned to look at him just as a walker emerged from the brush in front of them. "Shit!" He raised his crossbow, sending a bolt through its eye.

She hopped back into Daryl's chest, startled. "Guess I was right," she said, inching forward to nudge the thing with her foot.

Daryl rolled his eyes as he restrung his bow, "You're welcome."

She ignored him, instead saying, "We should try to skirt the edge of the clearing as much as possible, see what the situation is."

Daryl was really getting annoyed by her bossy tone, mainly because she was saying exactly what he wanted to say. It wasn't comforting to know that his plans were the same ones a twelve-year-old came up with. Suddenly, his plans didn't seem so foolproof.

Cassie stooped a bit behind a bush that was between the tree-line and the clearing; Daryl nearly had to lie down on the ground to stay hidden from view. She licked her lips, nodding reassuringly at Daryl, before popping her head above the bush to check out the camp.

She turned back to him after a moment, her face grey. "Yeah, they're gone," she whispered.

Daryl had to refrain from cursing in front of the kid. They'd left without them, alright. He took a breath, trying not to feel offended that they just left them behind without any food or water, any weapons other than the ones on their belts, even any goddamn transportation…

"Your motorcycle is there," she added.

"You shoulda started with that," he snapped, looking for himself.

_Damn,_ he whistled in his mind, because he couldn't whistle out loud without ringing the dinner bell, _that's a lot of walkers. _There must have been thirty dead things stumbling around in their clearing, tripping over themselves and the hastily extinguished fire-pit. The cars were gone, as Cassie had said, but his bike was still there, pointing towards the highway, ready to go.

It wouldn't be easy to make it to his bike unharmed even if he was by himself. But he had this kid with him. He looked over Cassie, seeing if she was in any shape to be running though a mob of geeks.

She hadn't complained for the five hours they'd been hunting, a feat that even some of the adult members of the group couldn't accomplish. She was certainly quiet if the several times she'd sneaked up on him were any indication. And she didn't seem squeamish about killing walkers.

But she was tiny, her height diminutive and her girth almost nonexistent. She didn't have a gun. Her knife was a pig-sticker at best. And most importantly, if she got bit, it'd be on him. He couldn't begin to imagine the look on Anna's face if he turned up without Cassie at his side. _If_, he stressed to himself. There was no guarantee either of them would make it out alive.

He didn't see any other options. They _had _to leave, there was no other choice. Daryl suspected that the others hadn't gone too far, though he had no idea how they'd find them.

"Alright, you stick close to me; we're gonna make a run for the bike," he said, taking his hunting knife off of his belt. Checking the clearing again, he turned to Cassie, his mouth a grim line, "Don't be a hero; just get there. You got me?"

"Yes, sir," she said, not a hint of irony in her voice. He appreciated her sobriety. But it made sense that she was smart enough to figure out when to take orders after spending so much time with a hard-ass like Anna.

"You good with that knife?" he asked, nodded his head at her tiny blade.

She glanced at it, looking sheepish. "I wouldn't rely on me to protect you," she said.

He hadn't been relying on that, but he was mostly worried about her. He could defend himself just fine, but looking after someone else as well would stretch him a bit thin.

He looked over his crossbow, making sure there was no trouble with it. He loved his crossbow and it'd really helped him out since the turn, but one of its downsides was that he could only shoot one bolt before having to resort to melee weapons. Reloading his crossbow made him like a giraffe at a watering hole; he was vulnerable.

Nodding over at the little girl who was watching him with anxious eyes, he said, "Alright, hold my key," and handed her the dirty key to his brother's bike. "Have it ready; I wanna start up fast."

She nodded grimly, taking it and holding in her fist. She gripped it like a lifeline. Peeking over the bush, he mentally mapped out the fastest way to his bike. Around that tall walker, stab that one, kick down that one and leave it there; no need to waste time.

Then he saw his opening. "C'mon!" he hissed, rising over the bush and shooting a walker down. The bolt went through its right eye. It went down, its body tripping another walker before it could reach them. Daryl shouldered his crossbow and pulled Cassie behind him. Her eyes were wide, but she didn't hesitate to dart between walkers.

One walker—it'd been a well-dressed woman before it died—lunged for his arm. He grunted as he leapt out of its reach, nearly tripping over another. He heaved a frustrated sigh, debating back and forth in his mind, before taking the string of squirrels around his neck and throwing them back towards the trees. As some of the walkers lurched away to check it out, Daryl stuck his knife into the dead woman's eye.

_Well, there goes five hours of hunting._ At least Cassie had her backpack of berries.

They made it to the bike, walkers growling and swiping their rotting hands at them. Daryl swung his leg over the seat, kicking down a geek reaching for his leg on the other side. Cassie clambered up behind him, pushing his key into his hand as he shoved his crossbow to her—he couldn't sling it over his shoulder with her clinging to his back like a baby koala.

Thankfully, he jerked the key into the ignition with minimal fumbling, as he was afraid he might under the high pressure. Cassie wrapped her tiny arms tightly around his middle as he revved the engine and peeled out of the clearing.

_Alright, that could've gone worse_, he thought. But now what? He didn't know where to go; they hadn't talked about leaving yet. The group hadn't made plans for relocation.

Before he knew what he was going to do, the dirt road bled into the asphalt highway. Walkers from the campsite were still right on the back wheel. Daryl couldn't hesitate for more than a moment before he had to pick a direction; north or south, left or right. If he had time to flip a coin—and if he still had coins, for that matter—he'd do it. It was a fifty-fifty shot.

"Right!" Cassie cried into his ear, tugging on his right side. "Turn right, _now!_"

"Wha—"

"Just go right!"

The bike leapt forward just before a walker could yank the little girl off the back of his bike. She clenched her fists fiercely into his leather vest, her face pressing firmly into his back.

* * *

Maggie drove. Anna was still a little unfocused from the previous day's excitement, so Maggie took the wheel without a peep of protest from the injured woman.

As soon as Maggie started up the truck and spun the car around, crushing a few walkers beneath the tires, Anna lunged down beneath her seat, her hands scrabbling wildly for something that Maggie couldn't see.

"What are you doing?" she asked, grunting in surprise when a walker slammed its face against her window, leaving a trail of blood oozing down.

Anna didn't answer—not that she'd expected her to—she only retrieved a crinkled package of multicolored chalk dust from beneath her seat. Ignoring Maggie's bewildered look, she flipped open the half-empty bag, inadvertently tossing chalk onto their laps.

The walkers pounding on the car had fallen away, too slow for the vehicle. When the dirt road melted into the cracked asphalt of the main highway—and Maggie signaled right, old habits die hard—Anna cracked her window and shook a handful of crushed chalk out, leaving a splash of color on the right side of the dirt road.

"Oh," Maggie said, unable to come up with anything less stupid to say. "Ok."

"Yeah," Anna answered.

Uncomfortable silence. It was to Maggie, anyway; Anna struck her as the type of person to enjoy silence.

The cars in front of them didn't make any more turns off of the highway, so the bag of chalk remained untouched in Anna's lap. It seemed strange to Maggie that they had a bag of crushed chalk underneath the front seat, but it was useful. Maybe they got separated a lot and they needed to leave signs for one another. Or maybe Anna was overly prepared for every situation.

Frankly, their group could do with more over preparation, Maggie thought. Most days, it seemed like Rick was flying by the seat of his pants. Anna's bag of chalk made her seem like an even more valuable addition to their group. She'd have to bring it up with Rick when they got a moment.

After driving in stifling silence for a good forty-five minutes, Maggie couldn't take it any longer. She cleared her throat and asked the most innocuous question she could think of. "So, where are you from?"

Immediately, without glancing over at her, Anna replied, "Kentucky." No further elaboration.

"Oh."

Silence again. The Hyundai at the front of the caravan signaled left onto a smaller gravel road, the truck directly ahead following. Anna tossed another handful of chalk out of the window once they'd turned as well.

"You?" Anna asked quietly a few minutes after they'd hit the gravel. Maggie almost didn't hear her.

"What?"

"Where're you from?" she asked louder, in a slightly exasperated tone. She clearly regretted asking.

"Around here," Maggie said vaguely, distracted by the right the caravan made. "Georgian born and raised."

"Huh." More chalk. After they turned, Anna stared out of her window with blank eyes.

"Listen," Anna turned to look at Maggie for the first time since they'd jumped into the truck. Her hazel stare was unnerving. Maggie cleared her throat again and continued, "I just wanted to say that what you did back in Mulberry…I understand. I would've done the same thing."

Anna's gaze didn't waver. Maggie took that as a good, though slightly creepy, sign. "Beth—the blonde girl—she's my little sister and I'd do anything to protect her. I get that you were just trying to protect yourself. So, I just want you to know that I'm on your side. I think you're alright."

Anna stared for a minute more before silently turning her gaze back to the thick tree line that rushed past them. Maggie wasn't sure if that was acknowledgement or if she was still pretty out of it from being concussed, but nevertheless, Maggie had thought it was important to say. She believed it.

Another left onto a dirt path so narrow and covered with growth that Maggie never would have been able to pick it out if she hadn't seen the Hyundai plow through. The trees rose up around them, tall and flush together. There were no walkers as far as Maggie could see, but that meant nothing. Nowhere was safe.

More chalk. Maggie couldn't glance over at her silent companion anymore, not even fleetingly. The narrow path dominated her attention. Briefly, she realized that making a run for it from here would be next to impossible; only one car could fit on the path at a time.

But the path ended fairly quickly. It was a driveway, she saw as a cabin appeared around the bend. The other cars swiveled around, pointing towards the path in case they needed to make a quick getaway and she followed suit.

It was an old cabin, probably some hunter's base that was off the grid, its walls made of sturdy logs. Maggie guessed it had one room—one _small_ room, she amended gloomily as she turned off the ignition—with an old stone chimney.

As the others started getting out of the other cars, Maggie unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped out onto the grass before the cabin.

* * *

Glenn slammed the driver's side door, his eyes instinctively finding Maggie's. She gave him a soft smile from across the cars and it was all he could do to not gather her up in his arms. He went to her side, squeezing her arm.

"You alright?" he murmured.

She nodded and threw her arms around his neck. He responded by holding her tight.

The others got out of the cars, Rick gesturing to T-Dog to help him canvas the area, make sure there weren't any walkers lurking. Glenn sighed, but extracted himself from his girlfriend's embrace, leaving a quick kiss on her forehead.

"We gotta make sure this place is safe," he said. Maggie took a shuddering breath but nodded again. A swell of pride rose up in his chest as it did whenever Maggie demonstrated her indomitable strength. Damn, he was the luckiest man in the world.

Surprisingly, there weren't any walkers in the small cabin, nor were there any within a 100 meter radius of the place. He wasn't sure how long that would last. And the only bathroom they found was a shed with a hole in the ground, which he didn't know how Lori was going to use. Nonetheless, the others were decidedly cheerful at their lucky find, especially when T-Dog had opened up a cabinet to discover shelves upon shelves of canned food.

Only Carol and Anna were downcast, for obvious reasons. Carl, too, was upset, though that was because it was essentially his fault that they had to leave Daryl and Cassie behind. His hands shook as he unloaded the back of the Hyundai, and his eyes were conspicuously red.

That didn't stop Anna from throwing down her backpack in anger. Before Glenn could say anything, she stalked over to where Carl was shaking like a leaf, grabbed his arm roughly, and shouted, "What the hell were you thinking?"

He stared at her with eyes wide, trying to stutter out a response to defend himself, "I-I didn't m-mean to—"

"Doesn't matter what you meant to do!" By now, Rick and Lori were charging over to defend their son from the third degree he was getting, but not before Anna got a few more caustic remarks in.

"Cassie might be dead 'cause you're too stupid to stay put! You think you can pull shit like this, that people are just gonna let you off the hook 'cause you're just a little boy?" Rick yanked her away from a tearful Carl being soothed by his mother, Carol, and Beth.

"You will _not_ threaten my son, you hear me?" Rick growled with fire in his eyes, his hand clenched on her upper arm in a grip strong enough to keep Anna from lunging for Carl to shake him around a little, Glenn guessed. "I will not hesitate to kill you if you _ever_ threaten him again."

"You need to take control of your kid, Officer _Friendly_," she hissed back, jerking around to get out of his grip, with no success.

Merle had called him that, Glenn remembered. So did Rick, he realized by the way the cop's eyes flashed in annoyance. She didn't know it, but she was only digging herself deeper.

"Hey, calm down," T-Dog said, grabbing her shoulder. She jerked again and, this time, Rick released her. She glared fiercely around at each of them, but backed off after making eye contact with Maggie.

When she stalked off, they all breathed a sigh of relief. "Did she say anything to you in the car?" Glenn asked.

Maggie shrugged. "No, she probably said about five words total. She didn't seem angry at all, just…quiet."

"She is a danger to our group," Rick hissed, shooting a glance behind his back at his shaken son. Lori pursed her lips and shepherded him into the cabin, Beth trailing behind. Carol joined their conversation.

"How are Daryl and Cassie going to find us?" she asked immediately, as if what had just transpired hadn't happened.

Maggie answered her, "Anna left a chalk trail. He'll find us."

"What does that mean?"

"She has a bag of chalk—"

"We need to focus on the problem at hand," Rick reminded them.

Carol huffed, still unconvinced that Daryl could find them. To be honest, Glenn wasn't sure that Daryl would find them. Sure, he was a great tracker and a hell of a lot smarter than he looked, but their clearing had been completely overrun by the time they'd left it. There was no telling if they were even still alive, let alone if they could find them again. Of course, he hoped he was wrong.

"She needs to leave," said Rick.

"She hasn't done anything," Maggie protested.

Rick barked a sarcastic laugh, pointing at the door that Carl just went through. "Did you not hear what she said to Carl?"

"To be fair, he needs to stop wanderin' off," Maggie said, crossing her arms. Glenn was thinking it—hell, Rick was probably thinking it—but only Maggie had the balls to say it. Glenn exchanged a nervous glance with T-Dog.

Rick looked so startled that Glenn might've laughed if the situation wasn't so grim. "I get that," he said at last, quietly. "But that doesn't change the fact that she's a stranger whose been nothing but belligerent since we met her."

Maggie shrugged, glancing over her shoulder at the prowling stranger. Anna was in a dark mood, it seemed and she kept on the mouth of the driveway like a bear to honey. Glenn saw that she was convinced that any second now, Daryl would pull up on his bike, Cassie clinging to his back.

"She's just been doing what any of us would've done. I say we give her a chance," said Maggie.

"Why?" Rick asked immediately.

"Because it's right?" She shrugged again. "Because that's the kind of people we are?"

"Stupid?"

"_Good_," she insisted.

"The point is still moot," Rick said, running his hand through his hair quickly. "Anna said it herself; they don't _want _to stay. I say let them leave."

"And I say we should be _begging_ them to stay!" Maggie answered, a little too loudly. T-Dog and Glenn shushed her.

"Maybe we should go inside," Glenn suggested nervously. He didn't like being out in the open, even if they hadn't seen any walkers around. T-Dog nodded in agreement.

Rick and Maggie just glared at each other in stony silence. Finally, Rick jerked his chin towards the tiny cabin and Maggie huffed off inside, stopping only to grab a bag that Carol dropped earlier.

"I'll wait for Daryl," Carol murmured, laying her hand on Rick's shoulder.

He sighed, brushing her hand off, saying, "Yeah. Yeah, that's a good idea. T-Dog, can you watch with her?"

T-Dog agreed, while Carol narrowed her eyes. "I can take watch on my own; T-Dog should help the rest of you unpack."

"I know you can, but I don't feel comfortable leaving you out here with _her_," he said, nodding at the woman stalking the edges of the yard, nudging aside brush and sniffing the air. She looked like a wild animal.

Carol was still miffed, he could tell, but she agreed. Perhaps Anna worried her more than she'd like to admit. T-Dog gave him a weary smile as Glenn followed Rick inside. He passed Beth and Carl on the way in, the two clearly going to grab more of their bags from the Hyundai, and he gave them a cautious smile.

Glenn tried to feel bad for Carl, but it was difficult not to blame him. Carl was getting to the age where he should've been becoming more responsible, but instead it seemed like he was acting out more. It wasn't fair, but Carl couldn't afford to act out, not now.

Of course, that didn't mean he was going to go all _Taken_ on the kid like Anna had. He didn't know what kind of life would make someone so intense, but then this sort of life—surviving the end, that is—tended to weed out the noble people. Nowadays, all you could hope for was finding people who were crazy, but crazy for you. Daryl was definitely one of those.

For Anna's sake, he hoped she could become one for them.

Inside the cabin was too cramped, Glenn saw immediately. It was one room with a fireplace and a tiny twin-sized bed crammed up against the wall. Lori would get the bed, of course. There was a kitchenette, if you could even call it that, with a tiny stove and a deep sink. Neither worked, as T-Dog had found out when they first scoped the place out. A table with one chair was next to one of the two windows that faced out towards the cars and a loveseat sat before the fireplace, the only places to sit not including the bed.

Thankfully, there was a loft filled with blankets, big enough for two people to sleep in, which would free up some space on the floor for them to sleep. Even so, they would have to do some serious Tetris-ing to sleep all of at once.

That wasn't the problem at hand, though. No, by the look on Rick's face as he sat on the loveseat, it was Anna. Hershel was unrolling a sleeping bag on the floor as Lori checked through the drawers of a vanity. Maggie stood before him with her arms crossed and Glenn suppressed a sigh. It seemed Maggie wasn't going to back down. He dragged the chair from the table over to Maggie, but she didn't sit down.

"Explain to me why you think we should be opening our arms to Anna?" Rick asked. Lori glanced at them, but didn't join in. Glenn thought she made a wise choice.

"There are ten of us, not including those two, right?" Maggie said.

"And they're two more mouths to feed," Rick added.

Maggie waved his answer away. "Anna's a hunter and Cassie's got a supercomputer for a brain. As far as assets go, they're good investments. It'd be stupid to let them go without offering them a place."

Rick wiped his hand over his face tiredly. "But are they worth the risk?" he asked urgently, wringing his hands. "Is _she_?" he nodded as Anna passed outside, an arrow loosely nocked in her bow as she made another lap around the cabin.

She nodded resolutely. "She is."

Their leader sighed. Then he asked the million dollar question, "Why are you fighting so hard for her?"

When he saw her fists clench at her sides, Glenn closed his eyes in resignation. _There it is_. He knew her frustration was about to boil over, and he was right. "Because I'm worried about my family, Rick!" she burst out. "Because I don't believe in _us_. I think we need people who know how to survive on our side; we can't just rely on Daryl forever!"

"You don't trust me?"

Maggie's eyes softened. Rick's tone wasn't as vulnerable as his words, but she softened all the same. "I trust you with my life. I just think you don't always know what you're doing. And it's ok to ask for help, really."

Rick sighed. "I need to think on this," he said. "Why don't you two help the others?"

It was the most lenient answer anyone had gotten from Rick in weeks, so Maggie took it with a gracious smile. She grabbed Glenn's hand and pulled him outside. "Thanks, Rick."

Once they were out, Glenn asked her urgently, "Do you think he'll ask them to stay?"

Maggie sighed, reaching into the back of the Hyundai for one of the sleeping bags. She handed it to him, shaking her head. "Honestly, your guess is as good as mine. Rick's been…"

"Unpredictable," Glenn finished knowingly, taking the bag and watching her close the back door softly. She nodded.

"Right." They passed their armfuls of supplies to Carl and Beth at the door. Glenn gave Carl a soft smile and a pat on the back, to let him know that all was forgiven. You couldn't stay angry with people for long nowadays. You never knew if you'd never get a chance to forgive them before you died.

Anna sauntered past again. It must've been the fourth time already, yet she was as vigilant as the first moment her feet had hit the dirt.

"Anna!" Maggie said softly. Anna paused and turned to her, her eyebrows raised in acknowledgement. "Oh, um, I just wanted to know if you needed help unloading your—"

"No," she interrupted. But then, as if on an afterthought, she said in a softer tone, "Thanks."

But his girlfriend was unfailingly polite. "Are you sure? 'Cause we've got everything from our cars, so—"

"We don't unpack," she cut in again. "So don't bother."

"Right," Maggie said, adding, "You should get your stitches checked…" She faltered when Anna left the conversation abruptly to skirt the yard again. Glenn predicted there'd be a worn path in the dirt by the end of the night.

He cleared his throat softly to reclaim Maggie's attention. "Speaking of unpredictable…"

"I know," she murmured in agreement. They watched T-Dog and Carol inch away from Anna as she approached, though she hardly seemed to notice them. Every now and then, she'd take her eyes off of the trees around the cabin and glance down the road they'd come from, looking for Daryl and Cassie.

Maggie tugged his sleeve, pulling his eyes to hers. "Do you think I'm being stupid vouching for her?"

Immediately, he shook his head. "No…not stupid," he said before amending quickly, "Maybe a little too trusting."

"She just doesn't feel like Randall, you know?" she said. He nodded, understanding. Put a gun in his hand, Randall would've shot you if it suited him. Put the same gun in Anna's hand, she'd hesitate. She _had_ hesitated, and her reluctance to fire was what had saved Maggie's life. But then she _had_ pointed a gun at his girlfriend which wasn't something Glenn could forget. Nor was her outburst against Carl.

She was an enigma, but Glenn wasn't sure if she was worth figuring out.

Maggie continued, "I keep thinking of what I would've done, if I'd been in her place and it was me and Beth. I dunno if I would've even hesitated."

His blood ran cold, thinking about Maggie and Beth being on their own. It could be any of their fates, if they got separated or if everyone else died. Maggie was a tough woman—tougher than him, if Daryl's snarky comments were gospel—but the thought terrified him, more than getting bit, more than _dying_.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in tight, pressing a kiss in her hair. He loved the way she curled around him instinctively—this brave, incredible woman who didn't need him but _wanted_ him.

"I love you," he breathed into her hair because he didn't know what else to say.

"I love you," she whispered in his ear and suddenly Glenn _really_ hated how small the cabin was because he really needed to rip off all of her clothes. And when he relayed that need to her, loving that she shivered as his hot breath hit her ear, she laughed and he thought he'd never heard anything more beautiful in his life.

* * *

The sight of the other cars in front of that cabin was the most beautiful thing Daryl had ever seen. Night was falling by the time he and Cassie pulled up beside the Hyundai, the stars not out yet, but the moon rising huge and full.

Carol and T-Dog were outside waiting for them as he killed the engine. "You didn' need wait up," he grumbled.

T-Dog smiled warily while Carol shook her head. "We were worried," she said earnestly with her eyes shining. Daryl nodded uncomfortably.

Cassie took that moment to slide off the back of his bike, her legs wobbling when she hit the ground. He had to contain his chuckle. She tried to act tough, but she really was a kid. "You're welcome," he sniped.

"Thanks, I guess," she snarked back. All of her annoyance melted off of her face when Anna appeared out of the darkness of the tree line. He noticed both Carol and T-Dog tense up and away from her as she came over to them to talk to Cassie.

Without a glance at Daryl, Anna quietly asked the little one, "You alright?"

Cassie nodded. "Fine," she said, nodding her head over at Daryl. "He drove."

"I see that." Anna's eyes met his in the dark. For a brief moment, he thought she was going to thank him. But then she steered Cassie away towards their truck, making T-Dog and Carol heave twin sighs of relief.

"She's a fuckin' joy, ain't she?" he scoffed as he flipped his kickstand down.

"She's kind of scary," T-Dog agreed.

Carol nodded, before rubbing her arms vigorously with a weak smile. "It's getting chilly out here. Let's go in," she said, making for the cabin after patting Daryl's shoulder once in relief.

T-Dog followed suit, complete with another shoulder pat. He was glad they turned their backs away from him so they couldn't see his lips purse in discomfort.

There was a fire burning in the fireplace. The cabin was so cramped full of people and fire that Daryl felt his face burn before he walked through the door. This heat couldn't be good for the baby, he thought, tossing a glance at Lori.

"Look who it is, y'all," T-Dog crowed when he came in. Every face turned to look and every one of them lit up at the sight of him. He wasn't sure what the feeling in his chest was, but it wasn't unpleasant.

"Oh, thank god," Lori said, standing from her place on the bed with a grunt and giving him a warm smile. He returned it, though he ducked his head in embarrassment as Rick and Carl came over to pat him on the back.

As the others gathered around to shake his hand—or to hug him, as Beth and Maggie did, much to his discomfort—Rick said lowly, "Glad to see you made it out of there," his apology thick in his voice.

Daryl nodded and couldn't bring himself to resent Rick or any of them for leaving him behind. After everything he'd done for the group, they wouldn't leave him behind unless they had to. And they always came back.

Rick said into Daryl's ear, "We gotta talk."

Daryl nodded, opening his mouth before closing it as Cassie entered silently, as ghost-like as ever, Anna on her heels.

Instantly, what little conversation there was got sucked out of the room. It really was a talent, Daryl thought as he watched Anna's grim line of a mouth turn down even further.

"Rick," Cassie said with a cordial nod, ignoring the sudden tension.

Rick inclined his head. "Cassie," he replied, a chuckle caught in his throat. "Glad to see you're alright."

"Yeah, me too," she said. Whether she was saying she was glad to see them safe or if she was also glad to be alive, Daryl couldn't say.

Rick cleared his throat and said, "So, uh, the loft only sleeps two; thought you two might want to be on your own." He pointed to the ladder that led up to a cramped space above half of the tiny cabin.

"Thanks," Cassie said. Anna, still, said nothing and Daryl got the impression that Rick preferred speaking with the little girl over the adult. "We can take a shift of watch, if you'd like."

Rick shook his head. "No, that won't be necessary. Anna's been on watch since we got here and you must be exhausted."

As if to demonstrate his observation, Cassie yawned so hugely then that Daryl was surprised her head didn't split in half. As she rolled her head, she said, "Yeah, I think I'm going to sleep."

Anna spoke so suddenly that Daryl started. "Sleeping bags are up there," she said quietly, giving her a light nudge towards the ladder.

Cassie hardly seemed to notice. The adrenaline from the bike ride must've been wearing off, and weariness hits like a sack of wet cement. She clambered up the short ladder without so much as a 'goodnight' and, as ever, Anna kept her eyes on the rest of them, supposedly to make sure they wouldn't shoot the kid off of the ladder.

"Daryl," Rick said, gesturing outside and brushing past the mass of bodies gathered around Daryl. As he followed Rick out, he glanced up at the loft.

Anna stared back with huge, unreadable eyes. Daryl suppressed a shiver.

Outside on the porch, it was dark. The sun had settled behind the mountain, taking away what little golden light that had bathed the road only an hour before. None of the light from the fire inside could bleed through the thick blankets covering the windows. There was almost no point of having anyone take watch tonight, but Daryl couldn't sleep unless he knew someone was keeping an eye out. No matter how tired he was.

Rick spoke first, "I'm sorry we left like that; we were overrun—"

"Don' matter," Daryl reassured him gruffly. "You would've come back."

Rick caught his gaze and held it. "Yeah," he said softly. "Of course we would've."

Both men shuffled their feet awkwardly, uncomfortable with the level of concern expressed. Still, it needed to be said, and Daryl was secretly relieved to hear his insecurities addressed. After a moment of weird silence, Rick continued, "How's Cassie?"

Daryl shrugged, picking at a splinter on the wooden railing of the porch. "Lil' shaken, but she's a tough kid. She'll bounce back soon enough."

He truly believed that. She'd managed to keep a level head all through their hunt and she hadn't visibly panicked for a second when she found out they'd gotten left behind. He wasn't sure if some of their group members would've reacted as well as she had.

"How's Anna?" Daryl asked in return.

Rick rolled his eyes toward the overhanging above them. "She yelled at Carl," he said.

Daryl crinkled his brow. She was a pain in the ass, but she did have a certain, twisted logic to her actions. Yelling at a kid for no reason did _not_ follow what logic he'd seen. "Why?"

"He...wandered off," Rick said reluctantly and it was Daryl's turn to roll his eyes. That kid just couldn't sit his ass down and it'd be the death of one of them one day.

Noticing Daryl's annoyance, Rick admitted, "I'm gonna talk to him."

Daryl hoped for all of their sakes that that talk would stick.

"Maggie thinks we should be trying to convince them to stay," Rick said lowly, gazing out into the black forest around them.

Daryl started biting his thumbnail. "So?"

In the dim light of the moon, Rick's brow furrowed in confusion at Daryl's flippant question. "So," Rick turned to him. "I want to know what you think."

Daryl raised an eyebrow. He'd never get used to how these people actually valued his opinion. Even when they asked for it, he was still nervous that they'd laugh in his face to hear his thoughts.

"Honestly? I think this was a wake-up call." Rick gave nothing away, so Daryl continued. "If I hadn' made it back, y'all would've been down a hunter, and we've only one of those."

"You're saying we should let her join us?"

Daryl scrubbed the back of his head fiercely in a lame attempt to stay awake. "I think we'd be helpin' ourselves more'n we'd be helpin' her."

At that, Rick heaved a heavy sigh, like he resented that fact. Hell, Daryl resented that fact; he wished he could be their sole provider, but the fatigue that now pulled his eyes shut crushed that dream. Daryl wasn't Superman; he couldn't hunt every day, then run defense against walkers while they were on runs, and still have enough energy to take a shift of watch late into the night. It pained him to admit that he needed some relief.

Another hunter would certainly lighten the load. And the kid was as smart as Glenn had claimed, so adding both of them would be like having _two_ more pairs of useful hands.

"Alright," Rick said at last. Daryl's eyes shot open in surprise and, for a moment, his exhaustion subsided. "I'm convinced. Mainly 'cause you obviously need more rest, but yeah."

Daryl snorted, but didn't argue the point. He thumbed his eyes and hoped Rick was almost done. "So, you gonna talk to 'em tomorrow?" he asked, hoping that his words weren't too slurred.

Rick nodded, saying, "Yeah. You mind being there?"

"Don' see how I couldn' be there," Daryl retorted, gesturing to the tiny size of their temporary digs.

Rick might have cracked a smile, but it could've been a shadow falling on his mouth. "And I was hopin' you could take Anna hunting in a few days, to see how good of a hunter she really is."

Daryl nodded, starting to turn back around to crash on the floor of the cabin. "I'm gonna turn in."

But before he even put his hand on the rusting doorknob, Rick's quiet voice cut through his sleep-deprived thoughts, "Are we making a huge mistake?"

Shaking his head, he asked tiredly, "Man, when _ain't_ we?" before rejoining the rest of the group in their cramped cabin.

* * *

**Hello, all! Thanks for reading chapter 4; it's one hell of a behemoth, I know. The next chapter is only half as long, haha. I'm working on making the chapters roughly the same length, because it's a little ridiculous right now.**

**I'd like to thank everyone who's reviewed so far! I really appreciate the feedback. And if you haven't already, shoot me a line or two because I'd love to hear from you.**

**Also, I realize that I lovelovelove writing from Glenn's point of view. He's so much lighter than the other characters; the others are so fucking grim. I just love Glenn, guys. He's such a hero. What I'm trying to say is that I hope he's coming off in-character, because I might just turn him into Spiderman without noticing. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead. **

* * *

A cold drop of water on her eyelid startled her awake the next morning. She lurched up, hand scrabbling for the knife she always kept by her side when she slept. With her other hand, she carefully wiped away the drip. The gentle drumming of rainfall beat against the wood planks above them. She must've been under a leak.

At her side, Cassie stirred awake. Anna turned her head to rest it on her shoulder as she looked at Cassie. Her face was shiny, though it was probably just sweat. The fire in the fireplace the night before had completely flooded the cabin with heat and now, despite the rain, it was incredibly muggy. They would have to air out their sleeping bags tonight if they didn't want to get mold.

"You ok?" Cassie asked sleepily, wiping her eyes.

Anna offered her a tiny smile and nodded. "Yeah, fine," she lied. She glanced at the flimsy digital watch on her wrist. "You slept late."

"What time is it?" She sat up slowly, yawned hugely and started rummaging around in the mess of their sleeping bags for her coat.

"6:30," Anna answered as she began to slip on her clothes as well. Another drop of water hit her cheek. She wiped it off, making a mental note to dig out their raingear. "Roll up your sleeping bag; I want to be gone by 7:15."

Cassie watched Anna roll up her own bag, hesitation on her face. As Anna tightened the straps, she stopped and looked at Cassie. She raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Are you sure we should be leaving?" At Anna's blank stare, she quickly elaborated, "I mean, you were concussed less than two days ago. It wouldn't hurt to stick around, at least until you're better—"

"I'm fine," Anna insisted abruptly, wincing internally at the spark of hurt in Cassie's eyes. "Really. We'll just take it easy for a few days."

She could see Cassie wanted to argue with her, but she didn't. She never did.

Only Rick was awake below them. The rain must've drowned out their whispered words in the loft because he seemed startled to see Cassie come sliding down the ladder, arms out to catch the bags Anna tossed down to her.

"What are you doing?" he asked Cassie in a whisper. Anna could barely hear him from the nest of blankets.

Cassie said sullenly, "Anna wants to leave today."

For a man who'd been creaming himself in anticipation to see them leave since the moment they'd first drawn guns, Rick seemed displeased with her answer. "What?"

Cassie shrugged. Rick turned his gaze upward to her and she suppressed a shiver at the bright blue of his eyes. She made herself look into them defiantly. _You don't scare me._ Authority figures never had before.

So why did he?

"Can I talk to you two?" he asked her in a louder voice, his eyes flashing down to someone below her and back up so quickly she might have imagined it. "Outside?"

Cassie looked up at her, silently asking for guidance as she always did. Anna hesitated, only for a moment, before she joined them at the bottom of the ladder with a tiny nod. She let Cassie leave first, gazing over her shoulder at the others.

They were all awake; some still lying down, others sitting up, but all had their eyes fixed on them. Well, she was out of the loop.

Daryl was on watch out on the porch. He didn't seem surprised to see them. Anna watched how he and Rick shared a long look, silently communicating some meaning before Rick turned towards the rain and opened his mouth.

"I know this has been a strange couple of days," he said slowly. Anna had to force herself not to roll her eyes. 'Strange' was a mild way of saying 'bat-shit', but she wasn't about to add her two cents. "And we didn't really get off on right foot.

"But we'd like to ask you to stay with us," he finished by meeting her gaze head on. "Both of you."

She blinked. She wasn't expecting that.

Apparently, Cassie hadn't been either. "What?" she asked, nearly stumbling over the word in her excitement. "Really?"

Anna's heart throbbed. In all the time that she'd known her, Cassie had never looked so pleased. Their lifestyle wasn't conducive to happiness, and Anna had never considered happiness higher priority than safety.

"Yeah, really," Rick said, his mouth twitching. Daryl didn't bother hiding his smirk at her innocent enthusiasm. "We heard you're a decent hunter, Anna."

She clenched her jaw. Cassie must've talked while she was out. "I'm alright," she said quietly.

"Well, 'alright' is a hell of a lot better than what most of us can do," Rick replied. "You help us and we'll watch your back. I don't know how you two have managed to stay alive so long by yourselves, but I would strongly advise you to join us. Nowadays, you're better off with people."

Anna disagreed. Fewer people meant fewer mouths to feed, fewer people to keep an eye on, fewer bodies to move. They were a lean force now; with just Cassie and her, they covered every base—food, defense, knowledge, stealth. They had everything they needed. They didn't _need_ to join a group; this group needed _them_.

She wasn't willing to help them. From what she'd seen, they were woefully disorganized with too many rifts between them to function properly. She'd seen the way the pregnant woman—Lori? She couldn't be bothered to care what her name was—looked at Rick; her eyes shining. And Rick just clenched his jaw and turned away.

This group was broken, and she hadn't even touched it yet.

Cassie's voice startled her out of her thoughts. "I think we should talk about it," she said, glancing up at Anna with hopeful eyes. They flickered back to Rick. "Is that okay?"

He nodded, raising his hands up as if to give them some extra space on the tiny porch. "Of course," he replied as he started listing back towards the door. "We'd like to know by the end of the day at the latest."

"Yeah, sure," said Cassie, her eyes returning to rest on Anna's face. "We'll take watch while we talk it over, is that alright?"

"'s fine with me," Daryl said, straightening his lithe body up from against the wall of the cabin. He stretched his arms out in front of himself, his joints popping loudly even over the gentle roar of the rain, never once taking his eyes off of Anna. He didn't trust her. That was fine.

Anna didn't trust him either.

They left them there, silently passing Cassie without as much of a warm smile. Cassie didn't notice; she kept her eyes fixed on Anna, her expression blank.

Once the door clicked shut, Cassie's shoulders relaxed noticeably. She may have trusted them more than Anna did, but considering how little Anna trusted them, that wasn't saying much.

"So…" Cassie drawled, twisting her hands together as she did when she was nervous. In the past few months, Anna had learned how to read her little companion as easily as she could read a cereal box.

"You want to stay," Anna said, no lilt in her voice to indicate the question, because there was no question. She saw the hope shimmering in her eyes. She could hear the cogs turning in her rapid-paced brain as she imagined having friends, a_ family _again.

Cassie had come from a large family, Anna knew. She was the eldest of four children, with plenty of aunts and uncles and cousins and people to love her. Living like this, with Anna…she never let on, but she was drowning in their silence.

"Yes."

"It'd be good for you," said Anna, pacing towards the damp wooden railing around the porch. She rested her forearms against it and stretched out her fingertips towards the drips of water overflowing from the gutter.

"Good for _both_ of us," Cassie corrected her softly, leaning against the rail with her face staring back up at her. "We could get more rest, we wouldn't have to hunt all the time, there'd be more room for stuff…"

Anna hummed under her breath. "What about New Orleans?" she asked. Since the day they'd met, New Orleans had been their final destination. Some of Cassie's huge family lived there, so Anna had promised to deliver her. Her other plans had fallen through anyway.

Cassie scoffed. "We both know we were never going to make it," she said, shaking her head. "We were going to find one reason or another not to keep going. This could be our excuse."

"What about your family?" Anna said quietly.

Cassie pursed her lips. "They're dead," she said with finality. "I realized that a long time ago. You probably realized it before I did."

Anna raised her eyebrows and said nothing. She thought the girl's family was dead the moment she found out she _had_ a family.

"So, New Orleans is nothing," Cassie continued, her eyes shining as she watched the yard become a marsh. She sounded like she was trying to convince herself, but Anna knew that she'd realized the fact a long time ago. "There's nothing there—at least, not for me."

"And this is what you want to do," Anna stated, rubbing her knuckles nervously.

"They're good people," Cassie said, looking over her shoulder at the cabin door. "They look out for one another."

Anna narrowed her eyes. "I don't trust them."

Cassie rolled her eyes, retorting, "You don't trust anyone."

"I trust _you_."

"Yeah, and I'm a twelve-year old girl. You might want to consider diversifying your references."

Anna had to laugh. What a fucked up world it was when a grown woman like Anna had to rely so heavily on a child. Even if that child was Cassandra Taylor, preteen genius.

She put too much responsibility on her shoulders, she thought as she looked at those perpetually tensed shoulders beside her. They were too small to be holding the weight of the world, yet Anna expected her to do that; to be smart, quick, and wily—all while taking orders as well as any army grunt, without complaint. She'd borne that duty with grace.

And she would until the day Anna died (because she'd be damned before she lived a moment longer than Cassie). If she flat-out refused to stay with this group, Cassie would fall in line because, for some unknown reason to Anna, she held the older woman in the highest regard. She'd do it without a word of protest.

But Anna would remember: how she'd told her 'no' over and over, never once considering her _emotional_ wellbeing as well as her safety, never taking her counsel when it mattered the most.

She heaved a frustrated sigh. She knew why she was resisting so fiercely. It wasn't just that she didn't trust these people—in fact, she got the feeling they were better than most—but that she was afraid.

She'd always been afraid of people. As a girl, she was withdrawn and anxious; side-effect of having a mother with a personality that filled a house, she reckoned.

With Cassie, her fear wasn't so bad. Cassie never pushed her farther than she could handle, she was self-sufficient—or as self-sufficient as a twelve year-old could get—and, most importantly, she was just one person. Anna didn't think she could be around ten other people all the time; eating with, sleeping with, hunting, washing, bathing, fighting—it was too much.

No. No. They couldn't stay. Anna's palms became clammy just thinking about it. Cassie would do as she said, even if she didn't understand.

That thought stopped her before she could open her mouth to refuse.

Cassie needed this. It may be unbearable for Anna, but _she_ needed this. And Anna owed her, even if Cassie didn't understand.

She'd been quiet for so long that Cassie started when she answered suddenly.

"Pardon?" she asked, straightening a bit.

"We should stay," she said louder.

Cassie blinked, before a grin spread across her face. "Seriously?" she asked excitedly.

She almost said _no_, but managed to nod stiffly. _This is for Cassie,_ she thought grimly, _this is your punishment; you _must_ protect Cassie._

"I…" Cassie seemed to be at a loss for words. "Thank you," she said, finally, with eyes so huge and thankful that Anna had to look away in guilt.

"Go on," Anna said, forcing a small smile on her face as she gently pushed Cassie towards the door. "Sure you're bursting to tell 'em."

Cassie's answering smile was so radiant the rain seemed to stop for a moment. But when the door swung closed behind her, it started back again, tenfold.

* * *

When Cassie came back in, everyone was awake and most were up. After coming in from the fresh air outside, the inside of the cabin was almost unbearable in its heat.

"Ok," T-Dog coughed, flinging the creaking window open and wafting out smoke. "We _cannot_ have a fire in here again."

"Yeah, it was like Mount Doom in here last night," Glenn agreed. Cassie giggled at his analogy.

Rick, sitting at the tiny table by the window with his eyes downcast in deep thought, looked up at the sound of her laugh. "You've decided?" he asked. The others stopped what they were doing to listen.

She nodded. "Yeah, Anna thinks we should stay," she replied, unable to keep the giant smile off of her face.

Neither could Maggie and Glenn. Maggie cheered while Glenn came over to give her a high-five. "Awesome!" he crowed as she slapped his hand. "Welcome…officially, I mean."

"Thanks," she said, then looking at Rick. "Thank you," she added, softly. She knew that he hadn't been on board with letting Anna stick around, and that he still didn't trust her.

He ducked his head in what could have been a nod. She'd come to associate the gesture with Anna, but she was now realizing that it seemed to just be a Southern thing. "Yeah," he said. He didn't seem willing to say anything else, perhaps in fear of saying something biting.

Thankfully, Maggie took it upon herself to let her know that they were happy to have them, even if Rick was making his uncertainty quite clear. "I'm so glad y'all have decided to stick around," she said.

"Me too," she answered quietly, disbelievingly. Anna's answer had been so unexpected. Just a half an hour ago, she was sure they'd have been gone by now.

But then Anna looked at her, unreadable as ever, and told her they should join this group. She went against every word she'd spoken about their safety— people are only looking out for themselves, more people means more bodies to watch and to bury, and, above all, trust no one but each other. In fact, Anna seemed…_tired_.

Of course, she had to get tired; as much as she'd like to pretend, she wasn't a machine. For months, Anna had been walking, running, hiking, swimming, hunting, killing walkers, carrying Cassie's load when it became too much for her, taking too many nights' watches, staying ever vigilant, ever watchful, and ever calm. How could she _not_ be tired?

Maybe Anna was just so tired that she couldn't muster up the energy to go on. The thought terrified her. Anna was her protector, but she was so much more than that. Cassie hadn't had many deep relationships in her life; no more than ones between mother and daughter, sister to sister, or simple friendship. But that was Before, with a capital 'b', when relationships didn't have to be so intense.

Now, well… if Anna had agreed to something she'd so vehemently abhorred for the entire duration of the time they'd spent together, Cassie didn't know what to think except that Anna was tired of it all. Maybe she was making an investment.

Maybe she was drawing up her will, the only way any of them could nowadays. And Cassie was the only person she could leave anything to, so she wanted to leave her safety.

And staying with this group was the closest thing she could get to a guarantee.

Cassie felt sick all of a sudden. Her mind was racing, and she had to shake her head to slow the panicked thoughts rising into the forefront of her brain. This was all conjecture, she reminded herself. _You don't know what the hell goes on in that woman's head_.

She really didn't. Anna was closed-lipped about her thoughts unless they pertained to their physical wellbeing. She'd hardly ever talked about her life Before; even After, she didn't have much to say. Cassie wasn't exactly loquacious, but even a mime seemed chatty next to Anna. So who could say why Anna caved? Certainly not Cassie.

Still, the thought that Anna was giving up, making arrangements in case of her death… it stayed in the back of her mind, a niggling idea that she wouldn't shake for months to come. It was pushed back when T-Dog stepped forward from his place by the bed and uncrossed his arms.

"So…" he said in a tone that seemed certain to get shot down. "I've been wondering…what else you girls got in that truck of yours?"

Cassie hesitated. "Um, just non-essentials," she said vaguely. She wasn't sure how Anna would answer that question, so she kept her reply cloudy, if only to escape Anna's ire.

Rick was staring her down with eyes eerily similar to Anna's. Anna's were hazel while Rick's were a ridiculously vibrant blue, but the solemnity in his was a dead ringer for Anna's. It made her squirm in her seat. Anna could pry confessions from a Catholic priest with her gaze, and Rick could probably do the same.

"Did you want to see?" she asked finally. _Weak_, she berated herself mentally.

"Would you mind?" Rick replied in a voice that brokered no argument. He wasn't asking—no, he was commanding. And Cassie was obeying.

She stood, gesturing for him to follow. Anna's head snapped towards the sound of the door opening, relaxing when Cassie came out. Her eyes narrowed when she saw that she was followed closely by Rick, T-Dog, and Daryl.

"They want to know what we have," Cassie said, pointing across the yard at their truck.

Anna looked annoyed. "Right _now_?" she asked, glancing out at the rain.

"Sooner is better than later," Rick replied, turning his cold eyes on her.

Unfortunately, though Anna had a particularly intense stare, she could never hold eye contact for very long. Cassie had noticed that soon after their first meeting. After a few moments of tense silence, her eyes predictably flickered down to her worn hiking boots.

She glared at her feet for a moment more before sauntering out into the rain towards the car. Cassie shrugged with an apologetic glance at Rick and joined her.

Thankfully, when they'd commandeered the vehicle a few weeks before, it had come with a hardtop cover for the bed, so none of their things got soaked in the rain. Anna propped it up, keeping their things carefully sheltered from the rain as they gathered around to peer inside.

She pointed at a thick canvas bag pressed up against the bed wall nearest to them. "Firearms," Anna said lowly, only loud enough so they could hear her voice over the drumming against the hardtop.

"Four pistols—three semi-autos, one revolver; good amount of ammo for all of 'em. Got two M16's and an AK-47, though I'm running low on ammo for the AK." She unzipped the bag and rifled through, revealing each weapon as she said her piece. "One 700P with telescopic sight—only a couple of rounds for that—two flare guns, and about seven thousand shotguns."

"God bless America," Cassie murmured reverently. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Daryl roll his eyes.

Rick was less amused. "Quite a lot of firepower for two people," he said, accusation lacing his tone.

Anna glanced over at him. "We've got the room," she answered, a vein of iron in hers, "so why the hell not?"

A moment of tense silence passed as Rick stared her down and Anna stared right back. It broke when T-Dog noisily spat out a mouthful of rain.

"Melee weapons," she continued calmly, tapping a larger bag beside the firearms. "Machetes, bats, crowbars, hammers… the stuff we don't use all the time."

"Where'd you get all of this stuff?" T-Dog asked dazedly. "You raid a redneck yard sale?"

"We've been collecting," Cassie answered for her. "For a couple of weeks now, stocking up to make it to New Orleans.

"Well, now that you've joined the group, I'm sure you wouldn't mind spreading the wealth, would you?" Rick said, again in an authoritative tone. He wasn't asking them; he was _ordering_ them.

"That's fine," Cassie said quickly, before Anna could even open her mouth to respond. Cassie had no idea how Anna would respond to his blatant commands, and, frankly, she thought they'd all be better off if they never found out.

"Take what you want," Anna agreed quietly.

Surprisingly, she reacted well. Rick seemed taken aback to find Anna so agreeable.

"Right…" he said, slowly. "Thanks."

T-Dog and Daryl glanced at one another, and by the expressions on their faces, they were waiting for the Anna to start foaming at the mouth and shrieking incoherently. Daryl seemed a bit disappointed when she kept her calm expression fixed.

They shrugged to each other, before they hoisted the bags into their arms. "We'll sort these out inside, is that cool with you?" T-Dog asked, adding a disgruntled, "We're getting soaked out here."

"Yeah, didn't realize it was raining so hard," Rick admitted, though unapologetically. Briefly, Cassie wondered if he _ever_ admitted to being wrong. He even dropped the 'I' from his admission, like he was leaving the blame up for grabs. "We'll unpack your stuff later."

"Fine," said Anna.

As soon as Rick nodded to dismiss them, Daryl and T-Dog made a beeline for the door, dripping water all over the wooden planks of the porch. Once she was sheltered from the elements, Cassie shook her head violently, showering them with rain. Neither Rick nor Anna was in the mood to indulge in lighthearted protesting at her best impression of a wet golden retriever, though.

"I have some questions," Rick said, crossing his arms.

"I'm on watch," Anna replied immediately. "Cassie can answer your questions."

"I'd rather ask the both of you."

The old Anna would have protested—actually, the old Anna might've pulled her gun out and shot him dead—but new Anna was submissive. She said nothing as her jaw clenched and her nostrils flared, before she jerked her head in a poor imitation of a nod. Briefly, Cassie wondered if this was one long, incredibly lucid dream.

Inside, Cassie sat at the small table. Rick leaned against the wall across from her while Anna took up a position behind her. She could only see half of the glaring match, but from the look on Rick's face, it was intense.

"So…" Cassie said slowly, trying to thin the air. "What kind of questions do you have?"

The rest of the group was listening intently from their positions around the cabin. It wasn't exactly hard for them to eavesdrop, considering how cramped it was. But it was only Rick who conducted the interview.

Of all the questions he could have started with, he chose the innocuous one. "How'd you know how to stitch up her wound?" Rick asked Cassie. His tone was not accusatory like it was when he spoke to Anna—it was merely curious.

"Well, my father is—was," she corrected herself with a twist in her stomach, "_was_ a surgeon. And whenever my mom was at work and couldn't take care of us, he'd give us oranges with cuts in the peels and teach us how to sew them up."

Blank expressions all around. She shrugged. "We weren't athletic, so he didn't have much to work with."

"Right," Rick said. Sitting on the floor next to him, Glenn snorted loudly. Cassie smiled tentatively. But her smile disappeared at his next question. "Your father, he died?"

Cassie swallowed. Her throat suddenly tight, she could only nod infinitesimally. If she opened her mouth, if she nodded more than that, if she looked anywhere but at her hands on the table, she knew she'd burst out crying. It'd been a while since she'd cried—she just couldn't find the time, to be honest—and she didn't want to start now. Not in front of her new group and especially not in front of Anna, the woman who'd never cried once since she'd met her.

"I'm sorry," said Rick and, to his credit, he sounded it.

"Both of my parents," she said. "And my younger brothers and my little sister. They're all gone." Her voice cracked on the last word. She let herself have that one word to grieve.

Carol covered her mouth, her eyes shining. Cassie guessed that she'd lost someone and that Cassie reminded her of that person. Glenn was looking down at his hand, entwined with Maggie's, as Maggie bit her lower lip. Hershel had his arm around Beth, who had tears streaming down her face.

Cassie couldn't feel sorry for herself. Everyone had lost someone.

"And you?" Rick asked, looking over her head at Anna.

Everyone.

"Dead," she said shortly. "My parents and my younger sister."

That was one of about five facts Cassie knew about Anna. It was also one of the first things she'd learned about her older companion: her sister had just been bitten and put down, maybe a few days before she'd found Cassie up a tree, seven biters clamoring at the base for one bite of twelve-year-old girl.

She still vividly remembered that day, running from the monsters and climbing up into the leafy limbs of the mighty oak tree and thinking, '_This is the end._'

She thought it was right, dying that way. Her parents had died protecting her, her younger brother—little Brandon, only ten years old— and sister—little Amelia, only six years old—had been bitten in the early days of the infection, and her last sibling—little Arthur, only six years old—was newly dead from a little biter that he'd mistaken for his twin sister.

She thought it was neat, dying that way. There couldn't be one survivor in her family. The universe had a way of coming full circle.

It was the universe, she told herself as she closed her eyes and waited for the end to come. How could she hope to win out against the universe?

And then Anna stepped out of the trees, not at all like a knight in shining armor on a fine, white steed, but like a kid that'd accidently stumbled into the Oval Office in the middle of a high-profile meeting. Even the biters seemed surprised to see her.

Her expression had been so vacant that Cassie mistook her for a biter. Later, she learned that it had only been two days since she'd put a bullet in her little sister's brain—little Ruby, only twelve years old; _me, she was the same age as me_—and she was wandering, lost in the woods and in her mind.

But even in her emotional haze, Anna's eyes shot up to Cassie's in the tree, as fast as a bird could cock its head. There was an odd moment where they stared at each other, open-mouthed. Then, suddenly, her vacancy sharpened into the expression she would become familiar with, one of intense focus, and she nocked an arrow, drew her bow, and fired.

"I'm sorry," Rick repeated to Anna.

They were all quiet for a moment. The rain outside kept the moment from becoming completely awkward in its silence. If it wasn't raining, she might've heard a cricket chirping at the tension. Still, it was silent and she was pretty sure she could hear a cricket drowning outside.

"How'd you two get here?" he asked. "You said you're from Philadelphia, right? Did you two drive from there?"

Cassie shook her head. "No, _I'm_ from Philadelphia. Anna's from Kentucky."

"Where'd you two meet, then?"

"Glasgow, Virginia," Cassie answered immediately. "Well, just north of Glasgow, Virginia."

He exchanged a look with Daryl, who was sitting on his sleeping bag by the fireplace. "What were you doing in Virginia?" Rick asked slowly.

"My mom was trying to get us into D.C.," she said, "but the highways were backed up for hundreds of miles. After a few days stuck in the car, my mom decided to go for New Orleans because that's where my aunt lives and she thought the infection hadn't spread that far south.

"But she was bitten before we even crossed the border into Virginia, so it was just me and my little brother; for a little while, anyway. We found this couple who took care of us and drove us as far as Buena Vista, just a bit north of Glasgow. But they killed themselves as soon as we got there." She shrugged. "Guess it was too much for them."

She remembered that day vividly. They shut themselves in the big bedroom while Arthur cried on the couch and Cassie held him close to comfort him. Then there was a _bang! Bang! _She went to the room, opened the door, and saw their blood dripping down the walls. In one hand, he had a revolver; in the other, he had his wife's hand.

_How peaceful they look_, she thought, as she pried the firearm out of his fingers before rigor mortis set in. Then she went back to her brother and soothed him until he fell asleep. They didn't leave the house until the next morning.

"Jesus," T-Dog said, his face upset. Even Daryl, whom Cassie had pegged as a testosterone spewing mountain man upon their first meeting, seemed disturbed by her story.

Cassie continued, "Anyway, my brother got bitten about a week later. And a week after that, Anna found me up a tree."

"Walkers?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I thought I was going to die. Then Anna came along and told me she'd take me to New Orleans. "

Rick accepted her story. His eyes flicked up to Anna. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"What were you doing in Virginia?" he clarified, already exasperated.

Cassie couldn't see Anna, but she imagined her shrugging. "Same as everyone else. Tried to get to D.C., couldn't get within a hundred miles of the city, so I took my little sister deeper into the countryside to try to wait it out. She got bit, I put her down, I found Cassie."

"And out of the goodness of your heart, you decided to take her a thousand miles away?" he said, disbelievingly.

"My other plans fell through," came the answer in a hard voice.

Rick tightened his jaw, but didn't protest. "So, you two drove all the way here from Virginia?"

Cassie shook her head. "No, we hiked it."

"You _walked_?"

"'Hiked' is a better word," Cassie said. "At Roanoke, we decided that taking the Appalachian Trail was a better idea than driving it."

Rick's mouth fell open. Daryl sat up straight and T-Dog looked at them with something like admiration in his eyes.

"That's gotta be hundreds of miles," Rick stated flatly, dumbstruck. "And that's not a leisurely stroll."

Cassie furrowed her brow. Talking to Rick right now was like talking to a brick wall, though a brick wall could probably understand English better than Rick could. "Yeah, again: 'hiked'."

"What the hell possessed you to think that was a good idea?" he shot over her head at Anna.

"Well, I've always wanted to hike the AT, and this seemed like the right time…" was her sarcastic answer.

"It was my idea," Cassie said quickly, before Anna could get in any more snide comments. "We got stuck in Roanoke and we didn't know how we'd get any further south, but then I saw this guidebook on the AT and I figured it would pretty much deserted. I was right," she added, no small amount of boasting in her voice. "We went _weeks_ without seeing walkers."

_And all we had to do was shit in the woods, _she added to herself silently.

"Huh." Rick looked pensive now. Maybe he was considering the merits of off-road survival, of which there were many. Plenty of food if you knew where to look, shelter everywhere if you knew how to find it, and a very noticeable deficit of the walking dead.

Of course, for every good thing about coming south on the Appalachian Trail, there were five awful qualities. It was cold, wet, and dirty. In the shelters, rats were a permanent fixture and they were bolder than a crushable creature should be. Walking for miles was exhausting, but walking for miles with a forty pound pack, uphill, on a perpetually empty stomach was unbearable. For a few weeks in the middle of their trek, actual food was so scarce that they'd subsisted on tree bark and insects. It was as close to hell as Cassie could imagine getting.

But considering they'd made it to Georgia without getting chunks of their arms ripped out, she ultimately decided it was a smart decision. Even if she'd never really gotten the hang of shitting in the woods.

"How old are you?" Rick asked.

"I _told_ you—I'm twelve."

Rick actually cracked a smile. "I was asking Anna," he said.

"Oh."

"Twenty-three," she answered.

Rick seemed unsurprised. Anna looked younger but seemed older, Cassie knew. When they'd first met, Rick probably thought she was a teenager.

"You're very young," he said softly.

"I don't feel it," she said, just as softly. Neither did Cassie. Every day felt like a lifetime and everyone they knew was dead. She felt more like an old woman; talking about family and friends long dead, just waiting for the end. They were too young to be so ready to die.

But if she learned anything about this world, it was that you were never too young to die, and you're never too old to survive.

"I only have three more questions," said Rick, as he straightened up against the wall, uncrossing his arms. "How many walkers have you killed?" he asked.

"I don't keep track," said Cassie.

He accepted this. "How many people have you killed?"

"None!" she scoffed, surprised at the question. She wondered how many people he had killed, that he felt he needed to ask.

He shifted his gaze to the silent Anna. "Well?"

"No one," she said.

There was a beat as they stared at one another. Finally, Rick stretched to his full height and put his hand on the doorknob. "Make yourselves comfortable; I'm takin' watch," he said, twisting the door open.

"You said you had three questions," Cassie interrupted. Rick paused. "That was only two."

"Yeah," he said. "The last one was 'why?'"

The door clicked shut behind him, and the rain roared impossibly loud before fading into a soft, comforting sound.

* * *

**Another short one. I'm less pleased with this one, but we're finally getting some back story on Cassie and Anna. **

**I hope you're getting that none of them are absolutely reliable narrators. Some characters are more than others (e.g. Daryl and Cassie tend to be pretty honest; Anna is less so) but what I'm trying to say is that you can't take their word as gospel. **

**Also, please review! seriously, that last chapter was roughly the size of Canada and I got 0 reviews. :( Even if you want to tell me to never write again because your eyes have actually melted out of the sockets at how horrible it is, I'd love to hear from you. **


	6. Chapter 6

The next day was overcast and cold. But the rain had stopped, which was good. Daryl found it difficult to keep watch when one of his senses was overwhelmed by the sound of raindrops pounding against the rooftop.

Rick wanted him to go hunting with Anna today. They weren't exactly low on food—the man who'd owned this cabin seemed to have been a paranoid survivalist, so it was stocked to the rafters with canned goods—but he was curious to know how well she could hunt.

She was an excellent shot, they all knew. She'd covered their asses exceptionally well back in Mulberry, but hunting was a whole different game. The shot was one moment of a long chase; a lot of people didn't have the patience to even get to the shot.

He'd taken Glenn out hunting once, a few days after they'd left the farm. He thought that he could make another hunter from the people they had, but that turned out to be a pipe dream. Glenn had been under the impression that hunting was mostly about the kill. After three hours in the woods without a big kill, he'd started complaining. They barely made it back to the cars without stabbing each other.

Considering how much he liked Glenn and how much Anna seemed to dislike him, Daryl had low expectations about this hunting trip.

He stepped off the porch stairs, scanning the yard. After a full day stuck inside the cabin, everyone was outside, and as far away from one another as they could be while still being within sight of the cars. Rick spotted Daryl immediately.

"Headin' out?" he asked. Daryl nodded. "Hershel took Anna's stitches out this morning, so she's raring to go."

"Great." Before he could walk off to gather his new hunting partner, Rick softly called his name, stopping him in his tracks.

"I appreciate you doing this," he said. Daryl squirmed in place, looking down at his feet to avoid Rick's earnest eyes. "I know she's not the most pleasant person to be around."

He snorted, shifting his crossbow on his back. That could win for understatement of the century. Of course, Daryl wasn't exactly a peach himself, so he couldn't say much.

"Just…see what she can do. And try not to kill her," he added. He said it so seriously that Daryl barked a laugh.

"Let's keep expectations low, brother," he said before walking away. He might've heard Rick laugh softly under his breath, but the odds were low.

The passenger side door of Anna's beaten up pick-up truck was wide open. He didn't see a head peeking up above the top of the seat, nor legs hanging out of it, so he almost jumped fifty feet in the air to find Anna tucked into the space between the seat and the glove compartment. She had her Beretta in pieces on the seat as she cleaned the barrel with a rod.

Her head didn't turn as he leaned against the door, preparing to speak. "What."

"I'm goin' huntin'," he said, fingering the strap of his bow across his chest. He was starting to regret coming over, but Rick had asked.

She turned and gave him a blank stare. "And?" she drawled.

She liked to see him squirm, the bitch. "Figured you'd want to come with," he ground out though gritted teeth.

She thought for a moment, before giving him an annoying smirk. "Sure thing, Deliverance. Lemme just get my bow."

He glared at her retreating back, his fingers itching to strangle her. They hadn't even left yet and already he would've liked to see a walker gnaw on her ankles.

_Zen,_ he thought to himself, taking a deep breath.

"She's not going to eat you," a small, disembodied voice said from inside the truck.

Daryl nearly slammed the door shut on his fingers in surprise. Cassie sat up straight in the bench seat behind the driver's side, her usually wild hair smoothed back into two tight braids against her head. A wry smile played on her lips. "Did I scare you?"

_Fuck, yes, you little brat._ "No," he snarled, stalking off. She clambered over the seat to catch up with him.

"Seriously, you guys act like she's going to rip your heads off," she said, jogging a bit to stay beside him.

He snorted. "Can ya blame us?"

"I guess not."

When he stopped suddenly beside the Hyundai, Cassie ran face-first into his back. With an amused smirk, he turned to see her rubbing her nose and glaring at him.

"Why're you followin' me?" he asked, yanking the back door open to grab a bundle of string from the trunk.

She shrugged. "Do I need a reason?" When he didn't answer, she sighed. "I want to come with you guys."

Daryl frowned. "Yeah, and what'd the Wicked Witch say?"

She didn't like that nickname. Glowering, she replied, "She said I should hang back today because I went hunting with you two days ago."

"Sounds settled."

"I wasn't _that_ bad to hunt with, was I?" she asked in a small voice. His hands stopped unraveling the string that he used to carry squirrels on hunts to look over at her. _Oh, hell no_.

Her eyes were huge and sad. Not tearful, but gut-wrenching all the same. He felt terrible. She really wasn't bad to hunt with; hell, she was one of the best hunting partners he'd ever had. Of course, he could count the number of people he'd ever hunted with on one hand, and half of them were alcoholic loudmouths, so a twelve-year-old who couldn't even shoot straight was miles ahead of the others by default.

"No, you weren't…" he said, trying to be as reassuring as he possibly could. Soothing kids wasn't his area, though. He was more in the business of making them cry. "I'm sure she's just lookin' out fer you."

"I know…" she sighed. "She's always looking out for me. And I know she gives me a hell of a lot more credit than you guys give cowboy kid."

"Carl."

"Yeah." She pursed her lips, shaking her head at her feet. "I shouldn't complain."

She looked so downtrodden that he decided to throw her a bone. "I'll…say somethin'. I don't mind you taggin' along."

He really didn't. Rick probably hadn't intended for Cassie to join their hunting expedition, but maybe having her along would break some of the inevitable tension. Besides, she knew which plants were edible while Daryl would just walk on by. Another food source couldn't hurt.

"You will?" Her smile put the sun to shame. His face suddenly warmed. It was a strange feeling, giving hope to a kid. He kind of liked it.

"Yeah."

She perked up suddenly, the moisture in her eyes drying instantaneously, and turned to skip away with a flip of her braid. "Thanks, Daryl. I'll just get my stuff—"

It clicked. "Hold on," he growled at her, grabbing the back of her denim vest before she could escape. "Are you askin' my permission 'cause she didn't give it to you?"

Her silence answered him. He scowled. "I ain't your daddy, kid."

"Yeah, my dad was black," she muttered.

He didn't laugh. She sobered. "Look, all I want you to tell her is that I'm fine to hunt today and that I didn't sustain major injury the last time."

"Tell her yourself," he snarled, slamming the back door shut with extreme prejudice. Across the yard, Glenn jumped at the sound. "Thought you two were tight."

"We _are_," she defended hotly, keeping right at his heels as he stalked away from the conversation. He flinched when she grabbed his elbow with her cold hand, spinning him back around to face her. "It's just…she's done so much for me that I feel like I have to do as she says, you know?"

If Carl was even the smallest part like this kid, they'd have had a thousand fewer problems. Maybe he'd have stayed still for one goddamn minute without alerting every walker in a five mile radius of their whereabouts. Then again, the boy wasn't a lick as mouthy as Cassie was, a quality Daryl had seriously taken for granted. Next chance he got, he was giving Carl a comic book.

"I know," he replied, because he did. It was the same with him and Rick. So many people Before had just written him off as a violent redneck. Rick had every right to do the same—he wasn't exactly of sound mind after Atlanta—but he didn't. He'd valued Daryl; not just for his crossbow, but for his judgment.

How could he go against the first man to truly value him? He couldn't, not even when Rick seemed lost.

Still, as much of an affinity he felt towards the little girl, he was immensely relieved when Anna appeared from the cabin, a leather quiver slung over her back and her unstrung bow in her hand, a reprieve in the form of a belligerent woman.

"Cas," she called softly, and the little girl immediately fell into line at her side. Anna shot him a suspicious look before herding Cassie towards their truck, speaking quickly in hushed tones.

Daryl stared after them, hearing Carol come up behind him long before she'd even decided to. As small as Carol was, she still made more noise than a horse on pavement when she walked.

"Be strong," she said, a smile on her face when he turned to glance at her from the corner of his eye.

"I ain't gonna murder her," he scoffed, but smiled back anyway. Smiles were so rare nowadays; you had to grab them when they surfaced, or risk losing them for months.

"I know you won't," she soothed him, patting his arm and taking no offense at his flinch away from her touch. "But maybe all she needs is a friend."

He wasn't sure if she was joking or serious. He snorted all the same. "No, what she needs is a fuckin' stroke."

"Daryl," she scolded, while hiding a tiny laugh behind her hand.

"Jus' sayin'," he said, starting towards the trees. "She might mellow out a bit."

* * *

Daryl was antsy, Anna realized as she watched him pace around the yard. Ready for a hunt.

She decided to make him wait. Her bow was in sore need of a thorough polishing, anyway.

After a quick talk with Cassie—she'd been annoyed at the prospect of being left behind today, but Anna explained her reasoning—she sat on the porch steps, ignoring the residual moisture left by yesterday's rain seeping through her pants.

Anna never liked rain, not even before the dead walked. Her backyard had been a forest; she grew up outside. When she came home from school, she'd sneak out the backdoor and slip into the woods, where she'd paint mud on her face and pretend the trees were cowboys and she was an Indian. Sometimes, she was a fairy princess, having tea parties with leaves full of river water and wild berry mud tarts for refreshments. It was hard to wage war and host tea parties in the rain.

Now, it was hard to survive in the rain. When your clothes got wet, and you had nowhere to dry yourself off, you could die of hypothermia when the temperatures fell in the evenings. If you managed to survive that, then pneumonia would take you anyway. A bullet to the brain would be a less agonizing end.

Amid her morbid thoughts and bow-cleaning, Daryl noticed that she wasn't in any hurry to leave. He started stalking over, all puffed up in annoyance. Anna could almost see the steam coming from his nostrils.

Fortunately—or unfortunately; Anna was looking forward to hearing the shit coming from the redneck's mouth—Rick's wife got to Anna before he did. Her name still didn't jump immediately to the forefront of her mind. _Lana? Lois? _

"I wanted to catch you before you left," said the wife.

"So you did," Anna said, and waited.

Everyone in this group seemed startled whenever Anna didn't shriek in their faces. She never made good first impressions. Maybe that just left room for improvement.

"Well," said the wife, recovering quickly from her surprise. "I just wanted to tell you that what you said to Carl was way out of line. He's not your son; he's _mine_. So his punishment is _my_ responsibility, is that clear?"

"Absolutely," Anna said, keeping her eyes down. "I shouldn't have yelled at him."

She appeared astonished for a moment, like she hadn't expected that response. Maybe Anna wasn't the only one raring for an argument around here. "Oh…thank you, then." She took a few slow steps back to the other woman—Carol; Anna was almost certain of it—before saying, "You know, Cassie should stay back with the group when you go hunting; I think she'd be a lot safer here."

Anna's attention didn't stray from her bow. "It's not really your business what she does."

Crossing her arms, the wife replied, "She's younger than Carl."

"Is she?"

"She is."

_I find it ironic that you came over here to tell me to keep my nose out of your family, only to turn around and shove yours into mine_, Anna thought, as she said, "Fine."

"Fine?"

_Did I fucking stutter?_ "I said, 'Fine.' As in, 'Fine, she'll stay back today.'"

What she didn't add was that she'd already asked Cassie to hang back. She knew Cassie was upset by the request. She also knew that Cassie was perfectly capable of tagging along with her; she'd done it a thousand times before. Hell, she was in better shape to go out than Anna was—her gunshot wound took that moment to throb painfully— but Anna wanted her here, watching the group, seeing how they interacted. Cassie may have trusted them, but Anna didn't feel comfortable unless she knew every factor of every situation inside and out.

If the wife believed that she'd won, then that was fine with Anna. She wasn't so prideful.

"I think that's best," said the wife, sounding far too smug to have been truly worried about Cassie's wellbeing.

She nodded. For whatever reason, her agreement didn't register as a dismissal for the older woman, who remained in front of her.

"Is there something else?" she asked, her knuckles going white on the limbs of her bow.

The wife laid a nervous hand on her belly, shifting her feet. "I was just thinking that maybe we got off on the wrong foot…"

_Jesus Christ_. If she knew agreeing with her every concern wouldn't get her to leave, then she would've started speaking in tongues right off the bat.

Daryl couldn't pace anymore. He stalked away, never breaking his stride as he called, "I ain't got all day!" before melting into the forest.

_A reprieve_. She shrugged to the woman, stretching her limbs as she stood. "Later," she said, beating a hasty retreat after Daryl.

"What was Lori talking to you about?" he asked a few moments after she caught up with him.

"Lori?"

Daryl blinked at her. "You didn' know her name? D'you know _my _name?"

"Lynyrd Skynyrd, right?"

He shut up quickly after that, aiming a few profanities at her from under his breath. She was grateful.

Daryl paused a moment, allowing her to pace ahead of him. She did without question. She wasn't stupid; she knew they didn't need to hunt. The most likely explanation for their outing was that Rick asked Daryl to take her hunting, to see what she could do. His test was beginning now, watching her look for tracks, to see if she really could hunt at all.

Luckily for her, the ground was still wet, leaving every trace of every creature's tracks as easy to read as a book. She knew what she was capable of, and she knew she wasn't great at tracking anything smaller than a deer. Growing up in Kentucky, where deer were as commonplace in backyards as mailboxes, she'd never bothered with anything less.

She was a little afraid that she wouldn't spot anything at all. She'd never been to Northern Georgia, let alone hunted here, so she didn't know how many deer there were. Maybe all they had here was raccoons and squirrels.

No, that couldn't be. She shook her head, refocusing on the damp earth before her. _Fuckin' deer are crawlin' out of my ass around here,_ she heard a smoky voice laugh, a _very_ distant memory. Thick arms covered in lewd tattoos, a face that was wrinkled beyond belief, her heart clenching painfully. _Deer all up and down the eastern seaboard. Fuck me, I'm livin' the dream._

She pushed the voice out of her mind. _Thinking of the dead never helps,_ she reminded herself fiercely. _Remember the living._

* * *

Daryl didn't want to admit it, but Anna was a pretty girl. Of course, her features weren't nearly as pretty as they could've been if she would just wipe the hard look off of her face.

Her eyes, which could've been as sweet as a doe's, were instead mossy rocks in her eye sockets. Her forehead was lined in perpetual concentration that smoothed only when she saw Cassie. Her jaw clenched so hard, he was surprised he didn't hear her teeth crack under pressure. She was hard.

In that hardness, he saw the girl she was. She scrutinized the mud so seriously—like she was analyzing an abstract painting—that Daryl almost laughed. She'd picked up on the reason for the hunt very quickly, he realized. Now, she was putting on a show; whether purposely or unconsciously, Daryl couldn't say. He'd like it to be unconsciously. She'd seem softer, then. She'd be trying to impress him, instead of trying to spite him.

Or maybe she was just hunting, and Daryl was reading too much into her behavior.

Still, he could tell a few definite things about her just by watching her prowl through the woods, crouching every so often to check for tracks. Sometimes, when she'd crouch down, Daryl would peer over her shoulder to see what she was looking at and see clear rabbit tracks going west or east or whatever and Anna would pass over them. She didn't hunt rabbits, he mentally took note. Probably not squirrels either, considering her aversion to looking into the trees for game. An hour into the hunt, Daryl had three squirrels strung up around his neck while Anna's shoulders still only held a quiver of arrows.

She was hunting deer. It was all she could find. And to her credit, she spotted the tracks before Daryl did. They had to be no more than two hours old, considering the rain stopped early that morning. If she was any good, they'd be back in time to have venison for dinner tonight.

"Two hours?" she asked quietly, stroking the inner curve of the print. He crouched beside her, as far from her little body as he could be.

"I'd say so," he replied, reaching for it as well. He knew what it was, but he wanted to know if she did.

"Young buck," she said absently, standing before he could. His face flushed when her backside was level with his eyes. "Not in any hurry; we'll overtake it in a few hours."

He nodded, letting her take the lead once more, hoping that she didn't see his red cheeks. Then they went on.

They were quiet for a long while, listening to the sound of the wind rustling the leaves and for the growls of the dead. Every so often, she'd check the mud for the buck's tracks before continuing on in her silence.

After another hour of hunting, he tried to ask questions. If Daryl was in charge, they wouldn't speak a single word on the hunt. But Rick had asked.

"Who taught you how to shoot?" he asked quietly, coming up beside her and nodding to the taut bow in her hand.

She replied with a blank look, quickening her pace to avoid answering. Daryl understood wanting to keep your privacy, but it was such a harmless question that he briefly contemplated screaming it. No other method had any effect, anyway.

Still, he tried again, as loudly as he dared, "I asked you a question."

"Do I have to answer?" came her bored reply.

"Yes."

She shook her head. "Well, now that you've ordered me, I'm disinclined to answer," she said, in a mock-snooty voice.

"It's an easy question."

"Who taught _you_ how to shoot?" she shot back, tossing him a glance from the corner of her eye.

_You wanna play, little girl?_ "My brother," he snarled. She hummed in response, but said nothing. "So, who taught you?"

"Taught me what?"

He was going to strangle her. "I answered your question; now, you answer mine."

She shrugged. "You didn't have to answer. I was barely listening, anyway."

Daryl stopped in his tracks for a moment, letting her go ahead before he did something he'd regret. He took a deep breath, calming the rage in him. No one played with him like this, not anymore. He suspected they were all too frightened of what he'd do to them.

The only one who'd ever jerked him around like this was Merle. But Merle'd never been afraid of him; Merle'd grown up with fiercer monsters than Daryl. Merle wasn't afraid of anything.

He didn't bother asking any more questions. It was another hour before the trail was so fresh he swore he could hear the buck breathing, though they stayed a hundred yards away.

She knew what to do. She checked the wind—you can't be upwind of a deer; they'll smell you—and padded softly around the animal, keeping out of its line of sight.

It was a whitetail, young and delicate. Its small antlers were devoid of velvet; only bone remained. If it lived any longer, they'd fall off in a few months, leaves that had missed autumn.

Daryl recognized its beauty, contrary to what the others might've thought. People usually assumed that a hick like him only hunted for the thrill of killing something, and Merle may have been like that, but Daryl appreciated the quiet moments before he took the shot. The moments when he looked into his prey's eyes and saw the wild peering back. He wondered if she felt the same.

* * *

_We're eating well tonight_, she thought gleefully, stepping out from behind a tree. She nocked an arrow, keeping the string undrawn as she aimed. She refrained from grunting in annoyance when she saw the shot still wasn't clean.

Whitetails are skittish. If your shot isn't clean, you could try luring them out. But it was risky. More often than not, they'd panic and dart away, and all you're left with is another trail to follow.

Daryl was watching. He wanted to see what she could do. She'd show him.

Placing the arrow between her teeth—the nice one, made of Kevlar, which she'd once shot clean through a duck—she crept closer. The buck was quite calm, rubbing his antlers against a little tree, scraping off the bark. He didn't hear her; the leaves were rustling too much for the buck to give a shit at the sound of a bush trembling.

She reached blindly around her feet. A small rock. Using her bow as a slingshot, she fired it past the buck's hindquarters. He snorted in alarm, hopping forward…but he didn't run.

She was in position now. Her bow raised, the arrow nocked, she drew back. The pain in her arm was excruciating. She ignored it; it wasn't the first time she'd fired with this wound.

She took a breath. At the height of it, the forest's sounds fell away. _All there is, is this moment._ She released.

The arrow completely missed the deer's head, impaling the stripped trunk of the tree. This time, the buck rolled his eyes in fear, nearly tripping over himself in his attempt to escape. Before she could reach back for another arrow, one flew, hitting the buck right in the neck.

She whirled around. Daryl slowly lowered his crossbow, eyeing her warily. "What the _hell_," she seethed, wincing as she lowered her arm, "I had it."

She hadn't had it. It'd been a few days since she'd even held her bow, and she'd foolishly assumed that her accuracy wouldn't have been affected.

"Did ya?" he asked, pointing to her clean arrow stuck in the tree as he slung his crossbow across his back. "I don't see brains on your arrow."

She clenched her jaw in frustration. _Goddamn it_. She strode over to the struggling buck, slicing his neck to end his suffering. Blood poured onto the mud, and his legs ceased their flailing. _Fuck_. She hated looking like a fool, even if it was only in front of this redneck.

To her surprise, he didn't harp on her failure. He was suddenly all business, yanking its legs straight and exposing the belly. "We can't both carry this thing," he said.

He didn't have to explain. Only one of them could carry it back, while the other made sure they weren't attacked. He pulled his hunting knife off of his belt, and threw his jacket over to her to keep the blood off of it, exposing his bare arms to the biting air. Daryl shoved the knife through its ribcage, ordering, "Keep an eye out for walkers while I gut this thing."

Slipping on his jacket, Anna didn't protest as she stood to monitor the area. The smell of blood was rank, even to her, so any walkers nearby would be drawn to them. They needed to hurry.

"I wasn't expectin' ya to get it," he admitted in between thrusts of his knife. She glared over her shoulder at his crouched figure. "You haven't drawn your bow in a few days. Plus, you've got a hole in your arm. It'd've been a miracle."

_Is he trying to reassure me? _She'd rather he make fun of her.

Instead, he thought she was weak. A weak little girl. Poor Anna couldn't be expected to make the kill. Poor Anna, her arm hurt too much to shoot straight. Don't expect her to pull her weight. Don't expect her to protect herself.

She didn't care what this asshole thought. She didn't care what any of them thought. She'd faced worse monsters than Daryl.

She only cared what Cassie thought. _All there is, is her_.

So she said nothing. She kept watch while Daryl bled and gutted the corpse, leaving a pile of steaming intestines and organs in the mud. They were far enough out that burying the innards would've been a waste of time.

Once he'd finished dressing it—with its legs snapped off at the joint and the skin still tight against its flesh—he hoisted it over his shoulders, grunting at the effort. Even after removing the insides, the body had to be a hundred pounds, a weight Anna would easily admit she couldn't carry for a long time. And they had hours to trek back to the cabin.

On the way back, he took the lead, albeit slowly. She followed closely behind, after retrieving her good arrow from the tree. The tip had been blunted a bit from the impact, but she had spares in their truck. She slipped it back into the quiver on her back, the quiver with the arrows she used for hunting. The canvas quiver attached to her belt was filled with arrows she used on biters.

Daryl didn't differentiate his, she noticed. All of his bolts were the same to him, which didn't make her feel so safe about the integrity of the meat, but if none of their group had died yet, then she wasn't going to complain. Maybe he just cut around the part where his bolt pierced.

He stopped a few times, panting heavily under the pressure. The small amount of blood left after he'd bled it was seeping into his sleeveless shirt, dripping down the fabric onto his jeans. Despite all of this, he refused to pass the carcass over to her when she offered to carry it. _Stupid man_, she thought, but never insisting. If he wanted to kill himself via dead deer, then she wasn't going to stop him.

After the third stop, she rolled her eyes. "Just let me take it, moron."

"Who…" he was completely winded. "…are you…callin' a _moron_?"

"Do you see anyone else out here?"

"Fuck…you." It was half-hearted. Maybe he was starting to like her.

"How old are you, anyway? I'm not sure a man your age should be exerting himself like this."

"I'm 38," he grunted. _That _was surprising. He looked older; she would've guessed at least 45.

"Huh."

He turned his head as much as he could towards her. "_What_?" he barked.

She shrugged. "You look older."

He caught her gaze. "You look…younger," he huffed in retort. His eyes were heavy on hers.

Anna looked at her bloodstained boots. The sight was familiar. She thought it was funny how she looked so young—ironic, really. She'd never been young.

_Cassie is young,_ she thought, picturing her small face in her mind, the cheeky smile that she rarely saw but loved beyond compare. It never failed; seeing Cassie's face, real or only in her mind, would always redeem her.

* * *

His back was screaming. They'd been walking for a few hours, and he knew they had a few more to go.

Anna offered over and over, but for some reason that even he didn't understand, he refused every time. Maybe it was because she was still recovering from jumping out of a moving car, and he was being conscientious. Maybe it was because she was such a tiny thing, barely taller than Cassie and shorter than Carl, and he thought the body would crush her. Hell, maybe it was some macho posturing that he wasn't consciously aware of.

Eventually, he'd crack. Physically and figuratively. Mentally, too, if Anna got her way.

"So, where're you from?"

_This bitch._ Of course, she waited until now to strike up a conversation, when he was getting the life crushed out of him by a dead animal, as opposed to when they were still hunting the damn thing.

He stopped, dropping the carcass unceremoniously on the ground, splattering mud on their jeans. His shoulder muscles cried out in relief at the feel of the breeze, but he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing that he was in pain. "_Now_ you wanna talk about this shit?" he asked, rolling his shoulders. "When I'm lugging this sorry bastard six miles up the fuckin' mountain?"

She shrugged. He hadn't really looked at her wearing his jacket before this point. It was far too big for her; the shoulders reaching down to her biceps and the ends of the sleeves covering her hands. Every so often, she'd scrunch them back up to her elbows, but they never stayed for long. She never stopped trying, though.

She was fucking adorable.

"On second thought, I don't care."

He kind of wanted to push her off a cliff.

"Shall we?"

He thrust his hand out, gesturing for his jacket. "Give it here," he barked. "You're takin' the deer now."

It was a hundred pounds, easily, which had to be how much she weighed. But if she was going to keep bitching to him, then he wasn't going to argue anymore. She could impale herself on an antler for all he cared.

When he slipped the jacket on, it was still warm. Inadvertently, he shifted enough to get a whiff of her musky scent on the collar. His face flushed bright red. Thankfully, she was too busy handing him her quiver and bow to notice his embarrassment.

"I need help lifting it," she said, not a trace of shame in her voice. He'd pegged her for the 'I can do anything men can do; I'm a strong woman, blah, blah, blah' type, like Andrea had been, but she just stared at him expectantly.

He checked their blind spots quickly before helping her drape the carcass over her shoulder. She winced for a moment before standing and stepping forward. "I got it," she snapped when he reached to help her again.

One minute, it's 'Daryl, please help me,' and the next, it's 'back the fuck up.' Her mood swings were giving him whiplash.

He rolled his eyes, switching her bow with his on his back and shouldering her quiver. "Bitch," he muttered, loudly enough so she could hear him.

She ignored the comment, and they set off once more. Their pace was slower this time, but Anna never stopped to rest as Daryl had, nor did she complain at the burden. He was impressed by her drive, and once again lamented her bad attitude.

Another hour passed, and she kept plugging along. Beads of sweat began forming at her temples and her breath came out in ragged puffs of white air. It was a good thing Daryl was there to keep an eye on their surroundings; he could see by the look in her eyes that she'd lapsed into tunnel vision a while ago.

It was as good a time as any to get to know her. "What'd you do before all this?" he asked.

"Why?" she snapped, furrowing her brow.

He frowned. He'd never met a more suspicious person in his life. "Were you a soldier or somethin'?" he rephrased.

Somehow, through her wheezing, she managed a scoff. "_No_. I was a waitress."

He wondered how she stayed alive without getting any tips. "You kill a lot of deer as a waitress?"

"I got practice killing nosy customers," she retorted, shooting him a dark look from under her lashes.

Daryl didn't know how to answer that without sniping back, so he changed the subject. "So, that kid…" he started, unsure where his train of thought was headed. Anywhere away from her, he supposed. "Glenn thinks she's a genius."

"She is." And for the first time on the hunt, there was softness in her eyes. Her mouth didn't seem so hard when she talked about Cassie.

"She said she's a shit shot."

"She's not perfect." Her tone slipped back into defensiveness.

"I didn' mean…" he sighed. There was no arguing with her. "I woulda thought you'd've taught her."

"I did," she said, grunting as she readjusted the deer on her shoulder. For the first time since she'd taken it, she stopped, took a deep breath with her eyes closed, before carrying on. "Four months ago, she'd never even seen a real gun."

That was about the weirdest thing Daryl'd ever heard. Twelve years old and never fired a gun. Dixons were practically born bearing arms; hell, southerners in general lived with guns like they were winter coats. Yankees were so weird.

"At least now she can shoot the damn thing without releasing the magazine. It was a bitch fighting biters when your backup kept having to reload."

He snorted a laugh. She let out a little chuckle, and Daryl almost stumbled over a rock at the sound. It made sense, though, that the only thing that could make her laugh was that little girl.

"But she's smart," he said again.

"She is that," she agreed, adding softly, "She'll be more useful than I will."

Daryl looked at her again, and saw the girl again. There was a flicker of that vulnerability he'd seen right before she'd passed out back on the highway. It was gone before he could be sure he truly saw it.

"You need to take it," she said suddenly, halting in her tracks and dropping the yearling on the ground.

As he shed his jacket again, he ignored how she rolled her shoulder and stretched her arms over her head. The front of her shirt rode up a bit at the action, but she was wearing a black shirt beneath it. He blushed furiously at the surge of disappointment that welled up in his chest. Daryl wasn't comfortable admitting that he found a woman attractive, not even to himself.

She didn't seem to notice; only silently taking his jacket and slipping it on again, before helping him lift the carcass onto his shoulders.

As he took a moment to reacquaint himself with the burden, she glanced around and frowned. When they started off again, she spoke of her own volition, "No biters."

He snorted. "Are you complainin'?"

"I'm asking."

He looked around as well as he could with a carcass crushing his neck. Now that he truly thought about it, it was strange.

"Well," he started. "We're probably about…sixty miles from the heart of the city, which is where all the walkers are. Or at least they were six months ago; dunno anymore. Fuckin' corpses might've started moving out of the city 'cause they're runnin' outta fresh meat. Still, like you said, they ain't got reason to come this far up the mountain, so maybe it ain't so weird that we ain't seein' 'em."

She said nothing in response, though her pursed lips and lined forehead told him that the gears were spinning wildly in her head. _Someone's here, they cleared the place out already. Maybe it was the man who'd owned the cabin they were staying in, maybe he'd just been out for a few days when they moved in; maybe he was back there now, pointing a gun at Cassie…_

"Hey." Her head snapped over to him. He tried to look comforting. "Rick'll protect that girl with his life. We all will."

She was quiet for a while, and in that time Daryl listened to the sound of his pulse in his ears. "She's worth more than all of your lives together," she murmured, so quietly that he almost didn't hear it over the sound of the drumming of his heart; so sweetly that he didn't believe she said it.

"We'll keep her safe," he said again.

"You'll try," she corrected and was quiet.

They didn't say anything else until Daryl's back almost gave out from the weight, an hour later. They transferred the yearling over to her in near complete silence and set off again. He was alone in his mind with his thoughts.

_You'll try_, she said and she was right.

His own words rang in his head. _We're gonna locate that little girl. She's gonna be just fine._ He kept saying things he couldn't promise. Before, he was never so confident. Before, he wasn't sure of anything. And now, when nothing was a sure thing…now, he had the confidence and he shouldn't.

But he was happier than he'd ever been in his life, making these promises he couldn't keep and disappointing himself. Because it's that moment when he swears that he'll protect the girl, save the boy, find the daughter; it's the moment when he sees hope light up in their eyes—faith in _him,_ a dumb redneck from the mountains of Georgia—that he'd never known before. He was used to being a disappointment.

Maybe he was stupid, but you did what you had to do to survive.

The cabin reappeared suddenly out of the trees. Most of the group had gone inside, but T-Dog and Glenn were on watch, chatting on the porch. Daryl raised his hand so they didn't try to shoot him; after getting mistaken for a walker once, Daryl didn't like taking chances.

Glenn popped his head into the cabin to let them know they were back while T-Dog rushed over to help them unload the burden. "Man, did you make her carry this thing all the way back?" he chastised Daryl with judgmental eyes.

"No," he snapped sullenly, but T-Dog was already shaking his head in disapproval.

"You alright, girl?"

"Fine," she replied shortly, the small amount of geniality she'd mustered up during the hunt gone. When T-Dog held out his arms to take the load, she shook her head. "There's a tarp in the bed of my truck."

T-Dog did not understand, or maybe he was distracted by the severity of her voice. He tilted his head confusedly.

She raised her eyebrows. "Go spread it out over the bed top," she said slowly, the 'you moron' implicit in her order.

Once he'd done it, she dropped the carcass onto the tarp, the dead bones clanking against the metal in a sound like thunder. The three flinched at the sound.

Before they all made awkward eye contact, Glenn came out with Rick at his side. "Dude, nice haul," Glenn praised Daryl, eyeing the deer with more hunger than was usually reserved for mud-splattered carcasses.

"Anna caught it," he said, tossing a quick glance over at her. Her mouth tightening in annoyance, she didn't deny it. It was half-true, anyway. She tracked the thing down; all he'd done was shot it. He was sure that once she was up to full strength again, she'd be shooting her own game and then some.

"Well done, then," Rick said, sounding begrudging only to Daryl. Anna was already hoisting herself up beside the deer, her hunting knife unsheathed in her hand. She crouched beside it, looking for all the world a wolf guarding her kill.

She didn't look at him as she said, "Thanks," to Rick and, "you can leave my bow and quiver in the cab," to Daryl. She yanked a huge swathe of deer hide away from the flesh with a sound like a paint-roller. Glenn made a sound like a chipmunk under a steamroller.

"Can I talk to you inside?" Rick asked Daryl lowly, drawing his attention from Anna's deft hands.

"Sure thing," Daryl replied and, after following Anna's curt instructions, he followed Rick to the cabin. Glenn and T-Dog remained outside, Glenn faced away from the partially flayed carcass and T-Dog keeping an eye out for walkers. They couldn't be too careful, even if they hadn't seen walkers in days. _Especially _if that hadn't seen walkers in days; too many times, they've been caught off-guard.

"Where's the kid?" Daryl asked as soon as he was inside. He assumed Rick wanted to talk about Anna, but he wouldn't be totally comfortable talking shit about Anna with Cassie hiding under the table.

Rick's eyes listed up to the loft. Daryl followed his gaze, a smile creeping onto his face at the sight of two tiny feet, wearing mismatched socks, hanging off the edge. Rick matched his smile.

"She was chattin' up a storm for a few hours before she wore herself out," Rick chuckled, shaking his head. "She's _sharp_."

"Is that so surprising?"

Rick shook his head. "I guess not. But it's uncanny. Especially 'cause one minute she's tellin' you about the stuff she was learning in school—like, quantum mechanics and microbiology—and the next she's talking about how much she loves Harry Potter."

Daryl snorted a laugh. That sounded like her.

"I think Carl was kind of excited," Rick added, tossing his son a glance. Daryl looked too. Carl and Beth sat on opposite sides of the loveseat, a deck of fading cards slipping between the cushions. Only Beth giggled every so often when the cards fluttered to the ground; Carl seemed a little downcast. "We haven't seen another kid in months, but Cassie's pretty uninterested in talking to him. She mostly hung around Glenn and Maggie."

"She likes Glenn," Daryl said. At Rick's raised eyebrows, he shook his head. "Got puppy-dog eyes for the guy. Don't think Glenn's noticed yet."

"Don't think anyone's noticed yet," Rick corrected. "You've got sharp eyes." He shifted his gaze outside, where Anna was slowly shedding deer hide onto the muddy ground while Glenn watched with a slightly nauseous expression. "How'd she do?"

"She missed a lot," he started. "Ain't the best tracker."

"No one's a good tracker compared to you," Rick replied, so seriously that Daryl had to duck his head in embarrassment.

"I mean, she tracked the deer just fine, but I get the impression she _only_ tracks deer."

Rick nodded. "That makes sense. She's from Kentucky."

The comment made no sense to Daryl. "The fuck does that have to do with anything?"

Rick shrugged, saying, "Kentucky has the highest per capita number of deer in the United States."

Daryl stared at him. "How the hell do you know that?"

Rick cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. "I remember reading it in the paper once…an article about overpopulation of—it doesn't matter. What else?"

"She missed the shot." Rick frowned and, for some reason, Daryl felt he had to rush to her defense. "She justgot her stitches out, and it's been a coupla days since she's shot an arrow. I mean, you saw her back in Mulberry; she's a good shot."

"Yeah," he said slowly, staring at his hands folded on the table in front of him. "Yeah, she is. I know we've already asked them to join us, but…" he sighed heavily, running his hand through his hair. "…there's just _something_ that ain't right about her."

"I know." He wasn't sure either. She never looked you in the eye for longer than a few seconds, she wouldn't answer questions frankly, she always stood on the balls of her feet. It was a bunch of little things that didn't seem like a big deal until you compounded them in one person. Then it was unnerving.

It came down to one thing, though. He told Rick, "I got the feelin' that she'd kill all of us if it meant protecting Cassie, no question."

His leader's expression didn't change a bit, and for one terrifying moment, Daryl wondered if Rick would do the same.

"I guess we'd better make sure that kid's always safe," Rick said, at last. "We wouldn't want to lose either of them."

Daryl exhaled shakily, relief hitting him surprisingly hard. Anna was a bitch, but she knew what she was doing out there. And Cassie was a ray of sunshine, though Daryl would never admit it to her; her head was big enough already.

"Why don't you go clean yourself up?" Rick offered, standing slowly. "You've got blood all over you."

"Ain't cleanin' myself up in here," Daryl replied, glancing at the close proximity of the group. It was almost impossible to have a private conversation when the furthest person away was still within fifteen feet of you. Hell if he was going to strip down to his skivvies in here. "This ain't gonna work for long, you know that, right?"

"I know," Rick said. "I'm thinkin' we'll set up a few tents outside tonight, ease the crowding in here a bit."

"It's gettin' cold."

"I _know_," Rick snapped. The fluttering of cards whispered to a halt. Rick closed his eyes for a second, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Sorry. But I'm thinkin' we can stay here, even if it's just for a few days. I know it ain't a permanent solution, but we're more sheltered here than if we're out in the open."

Daryl wanted to scoff and roll his eyes. Rick was tired; they all were. But they couldn't keep putting their safety off. They needed to prepare for the worst, not just wait for it to happen and figure it out in the heat of the moment.

But Daryl couldn't do it. Maybe it was the weariness in Rick's eyes—and that spark of madness, just there—or maybe Daryl was tired too. Whatever the reason, he didn't argue. Instead, he offered his observations.

"I think the cold slows 'em down," he said. "Those walkers back at Mulberry, they weren't movin' as quick as usual. They mighta been a little stiff from the night."

"Well, that's good news."

"And when we were huntin'…we didn't see any walkers out."

Rick leveled him with a stare. "You don't sound pleased."

He raised his thumb to gnaw on the skin around the nail, but stopped at the sight of blood. He crossed his arms instead. "I dunno. Anna was pretty skittish 'bout it."

"D'you think we should be worried?"

"Man, I dunno. I mean," he clenched his jaw, "We're further south than where we were when we got overrun, we're closer to the city, and we ain't seen a single walker in two days? That ain't never happened."

"Look, for now, I'd like to just consider this good news," Rick said. "Maybe that's naïve, but…" he ran his hand against the wall. "This is a sturdy cabin. It could survive a herd blowin' through."

Daryl glanced around, noting the heavy logs set on top of each other, with grey caulk pressed in between the cracks. It would hold. But it might not hold after a week there, with all of them stuffed in like a can of sardines. At least sardines in a can wouldn't fight like cats and dogs.

"Hey, Dad?" Carl's voice broke into his thoughts. Rick looked at his son expectantly, and across the cabin, Lori bit her lip. "Can I help with the deer?"

Rick exhaled sharply through his nose, exchanging a look with Lori so quickly that Daryl might have imagined it. "You'll stay within sight of the cabin?" he asked.

Carl nodded.

"You have your gun?" Another nod. "Go on."

Carl darted out before Rick could change his mind. Daryl caught sight of Lori's disapproving face, but predictably, she said nothing. Nothing to Rick and nothing to Carl.

* * *

She gritted her teeth as another harsh stroke of her knife yanked the raw skin on her forearm. When she gritted her teeth, the scrape on her chin burned. Then she'd reach for her chin with her free hand, and her bicep would throb from the strain.

Despite her aches, she was pleased. Her mind was naturally crowded with thoughts that plagued her every moment. Skinning her kills was the closest she got to nirvana, even before the Turn. It was this moment, and the moment of death, that her mind became disturbingly quiet.

"Why are you so convinced that Willy Wonka killed all of those kids?"

"Gene Wilder was _Silence of the Lambs_ crazy, man. And he turned that one chick into a giant blueberry; how is that _not_ the work of a raging psychopath?"

Of course, if there were two idiots keeping an eye out while you were trying to calm your mind, you were going to have trouble.

_Shut up, shut up, shut up_, she chanted mentally, punctuating each repetition with another slice of her blade.

Still, she preferred their inane talk to the questions. Sometimes, Glenn would glance up at her nervously, like some question had crossed his mind, but he was too afraid to ask. She'd give him her worst glare when he looked, and he'd always snap his head forward with his ears turning red.

She knew how to lie, but it was easier to stay silent.

When the skin was halfway across the belly, the squelching of mud beneath boots pricked her ears before quiet murmurings started. She rolled her head up, stretching the tight muscles in her neck as she looked to see who'd come out. The kid, the one she'd yelled at—Carl, she remembered quickly—was there, staring at his twisting hands.

_Jesus_. Did Lori expect her to apologize to her kid as well? The woman was ballsy, she'd give her that.

He must've asked Glenn and T-Dog to give them some privacy because after a brief exchange, they meandered away to walk the yard.

"What," she barked and, to her amusement, he jumped about a foot.

"I wanted to say that I'm sorry," Carl said.

She blinked at him. "Yeah?"

He nodded, his mouth a firm line across his face. "I know I shouldn't have wandered off. I put us all in danger. I'm not going to do that anymore."

"You'd better not."

He frowned. "I won't!" he said petulantly, and Anna had to fight a smile. It was nice to see a kid that actually acted like a kid.

"Okay."

Carl seemed unhappy with her answer, but started to walk away anyway. He paused after two steps before coming back, saying, "My mom didn't want me to apologize to you."

Unsurprised, she replied, "I didn't think she did."

"I just thought that I should."

_This kid_. He was trying hard to make things right and Anna hated it. It made her feel guilty. "I should say sorry, too," she said reluctantly.

Carl scoffed, "Why? I deserved it."

"You did, but yelling at a twelve year old is kind of hard to justify."

"I'm thirteen."

"Are you? Well, that's easy, then."

He crossed his arms, looking suddenly like his father in miniature. "I'm not a kid."

She shook her head. "No, you're not."

"You said I was, when you yelled at me."

"I did."

He was confused now. "So, which is it?"

She heaved a heavy breath through her nose, slipping her knife from between the skin and the meat. It was telling that this kid needed _her_ to define him—some stranger who'd given him shit— and not his parents, nor himself. "What do you think?" she asked quietly after a few moments.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. "I'm not a kid; not anymore. Kids don't survive in this world, so I have to grow up," he said softly, and his eyes were cold.

"Okay."

"'Okay'…what?"

"Just 'okay.'" At the sight of his crinkled forehead, she asked, "Are you used to people arguing with you on that?"

"Yeah."

She shook her head. "Look, kid, I don't care enough about you to give a shit. You can grow the hell up or you can keep running around, pokin' biters with sticks—whatever. All I care about is Cassie's safety. So you'd better not put her in danger again, because I know she can take care of herself, but I'd like to make it at least _possible_ for her to do that, you understand me?"

Most kids would've run off crying after that tongue-lashing. Her younger sister Ruby would've been inconsolable. But something about the end of the world made children impervious to her blunt words.

He stayed. _Damn it, where the hell are his parents?_

"I wish they'd treat me like you treat Cassie," he said, so quietly she wasn't sure if he meant it.

A plume of white air erupted from her nostrils as she started slicing again. "I'm not her mother."

"I know, but—"

She interrupted, "Cassie lost her parents. Her entire family is _dead_. Would you really rather be her?"

"I didn't say that! I just wish they'd treat me like an adult."

"If Cassie's parents were still alive, I guarantee you they'd be doing exactly what your parents are doing. They're just trying to protect you because they can't imagine losing you. They're weak like that. You…you'd probably be just fine if they died, but they can't come back from your death."

She'd seen that immediately. His parents had their issues, but if they agreed on anything, it was that they would protect their son. Anna had no qualms with Lori—in fact, she found her overbearing cosseting a welcome difference from her own mother's. Her parents would've been just fine if she'd died, which didn't bother her as much as it should've. It was the fact that they would've been fine if Ruby'd died; her blood boiled at the thought.

Carl seemed unconvinced, but she hadn't expected her words to resonate with him. Her words rarely resonated with anyone.

He glared at his hands, resting on the hardtop bed. "You said your parents were dead," he murmured, and she clenched her jaw. "Are you just fine?"

_I'm more than that. But what a price I've paid._ Her lips twisted upwards into some smile that made her uncomfortable, even though she couldn't see it. She said, "I'm just fine."

He stared at her for too long, eyes enormous and blue, and for a moment, she thought he could see through her every lie. But he walked away, and she went back to rolling deer hide away from its flesh and pretending she was just fine.

* * *

**Hey all! Thank you to all you lovely people for reading and a BIG "thank you" to those of you who reviewed my last chapter! Seriously, you're amazing. I used to PM people to thank them personally, but I'm not totally sure what protocol on that is, so I stopped doing that. Also, I think I was too gushing in my thanks and it might've freaked people out. **

**Please review this chapter because it was my last pre-written chapter, so now my writing is fueled by reviews. On that note, chapters will probably be published irregularly from now on because I write weirdly/slowly. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize. I make no money off of writing this. This disclaimer goes for every chapter previously and every chapter hence, thank you. **

* * *

After three full days of more venison than they could imagine—usually rubbed with salt and stuffed with dried sage leaves, courtesy of Cassie's plethora of Tupperware—their supplies began to run low. Daryl and Anna had gone out separately on the fourth day, but returned with only three squirrels and a rabbit, respectively. It was that night that Rick gathered them around and said they'd be leaving the next morning.

"We knew we couldn't stay here forever," Rick'd said over the sound of chewing. No one disagreed, nor did anyone argue. They were happy to be leaving. Even though none of them had seen a biter in a week, the safety wasn't worth the cramped conditions.

Or the outhouse. Mostly the outhouse. Cassie would kill a man for flushing toilets.

She would miss the loft, though. Being around ten other people all the time was already exhausting for her, but at least she had a place to retreat to when they got to be too much.

She understood what joining the group had truly meant; a loss of the quiet moments she'd shared with Anna in the woods. When they climbed their sleeping trees for the night, snuggling into their sleeping bags and strapping themselves to their branches with bungee cords, and they couldn't fall asleep for the stars—another thing that she would never get used to, but she was okay with that. Though she'd loved Philadelphia in all its bustling, dirty glory, the wide expanse of starry night sky was breathtaking. At least there was one perk from the dead walking around; no light pollution.

They'd lay awake against the knots of the tree, hoping that their weariness would overpower the nightmares, when Cassie begin to rattle off facts and stories that she kept stored away, a squirrel hoarding nuts. And Anna would listen silently, sometimes drifting off at the sound of her voice, which always calmed Cassie immensely. Anna had trouble sleeping, though she'd never admitted it.

In the loft, the trouble was more evident. When Cassie would slip under the covers, Anna would still be sitting against the tilted ceiling, twirling her arrows through her fingers, starting at every sound from below them. But she still listened to Cassie's stories, and she'd begin to nod off just as Cassie slipped into unconsciousness. Cassie was afraid that when they were back on the road, with strangers all around them, Anna wouldn't sleep at all.

On that night, after the last of the rabbit/squirrel stew was finished off and they retreated to their separate corners for one last night in relative safety, Cassie laid face-down on her sleeping bag in the loft when Anna snaked in beside her. Hastily, she stashed her notebook beneath the winter coat she used as a pillow.

"Are you packed?" Anna asked curtly, as was her way. Cassie nodded. She nodded back, gathering her limbs up against her torso as she leaned next to the gash in the wall that served as their window to the open air.

"Are you going to sleep?" Cassie whispered, resting her cheek in the cradle of her arms as she looked at her.

A vein in Anna's temple jumped at the question, but otherwise she remained calm. Cassie knew better; when Anna began to count her arrows, as she did then, she was nervous.

"Of course," she said, and Cassie knew she was lying. She slid her arrows out from her hunting quiver, turning them over in deft hands.

There was beauty in Anna's hands; they never made superfluous movements and they worked hard. They reminded her of her father's. When her mother taught night classes, her father would entertain the kids at home by flipping a quarter across his knuckles over and over. While the youngest giggled in delight, her father would press the warm coin into her hands and tell her that not all things came easily, not even for people like her. Then he'd challenge her to do it herself and she'd practiced for hours, until the coin was so hot it nearly burned her skin, but she never got it right.

She didn't understand why he wanted her to do it, not then. It was only now that she'd failed so many things—her brother, her mother, her _father_—that she understood. Up until that point, she'd never failed anything. She'd learned to read in a matter of hours, her piano-playing was flawless, and numbers had made more sense to her than breathing. Everything she did had come easily to her, and she thought everything always would. He was teaching her that she could fail as well as anyone.

She missed him. She missed her family. But Anna filled that void as best she could, even if Cassie felt like she had to take care of her sometimes.

"…Are you going to sleep now?"

Anna caught her gaze and smiled. "After you do."

She had to roll her eyes. "Sure," she said sarcastically. She furrowed her brow, adding softly, "You're not getting enough rest."

She narrowed her eyes and Cassie knew she messed up. Anna never scolded her, but she always made her annoyance clear. "We're getting up early tomorrow," she said, rolling an arrow between her thumb and forefinger. The order was clear: _go the fuck to sleep_.

Cassie flipped onto her back, slipped into her bag, and closed her eyes with a heavy sigh. But after fifteen minutes of lying there, no shred of sleep pricking at her eyeballs, she kicked her legs impatiently. Anna shifted slightly.

"So, you know how my mom was professor at UPenn?" she asked quietly, not waiting for an answer before she continued, "She was also really athletic. She did volleyball in high school and college because she was so tall and strong. I got Dad's genes; in the summer, we'd vacation at my godfather's house in the Hamptons and when we'd play beach volleyball, the ball would spike Dad in the face after three minutes." She shook her head. "Brandon and I were the same, but I think the twins would have been more like Mom; they never stopped running up and down the stairs at home."

Anna said nothing.

"Mom was stricter than Dad," she pressed on. "She was the one who enforced all the rules like no TV on school nights, and no TV on weekends until we finished all of our homework. She had this way of looking at you that made you want to pee yourself, but still, she was the one we went to when we were afraid or feeling sick. Dad was the M.D., but Mom made us feel better. She'd read to us at bedtime; never fairytales because she thought they were too immature. It was always stuff like _Pride and Prejudice _and _The Great Gatsby_."

Anna exhaled through her nose in a laugh. A smile crept onto Cassie's face.

"Sometimes, if we were really good, she'd read us _The Hobbit_ or _Harry Potter_. We had the whole _Harry Potter_ series at home, so it wasn't like I'd never read it, but it never sounded like it did when my mom would read it to us. She had a really nice voice; low and smooth. I felt like we were always on a rocking ship in the middle of a storm and her voice would calm the water instantaneously."

A tear appeared so suddenly that she laughed in surprise. "Oh, no," she said, wiping it away, struggling to dam the flood.

Rustling came from Anna's area as she put her arrows away and slipped beside her. She put her arm around Cassie—Anna's arm felt nothing like her mother's; it was thinner and rougher—and kissed her forehead, pressing her tearful face into her neck.

"Go to sleep," she whispered into her hair. "I'll rest, I promise."

She fell asleep after a few minutes of body-wracking sobs, even though she knew Anna was a liar.

* * *

"We gotta get out of the mountains," Daryl started. He and Rick had the map spread out on the table in the cabin, studying it as the others popped in and out, stripping the cabin clean of all the things they needed on the road. "It's gettin' too cold."

"Fewer people in the mountains," Rick countered. "Means fewer walkers."

"That don't mean jack-shit if we're all freezin' to death," Daryl retorted, biting the skin of his thumb. "We should go south, avoidin' the big cities."

"How far south are you thinkin'?" Rick asked, absently dragging his finger from where they were to the Floridian border.

Daryl shook his head. "Not that far. Just far enough. Keep lookin' for a place we can hole up long enough for Lori to have the baby."

As Maggie and Glenn passed with their arms full of cans, Rick stepped closer. He waited for them to pass before pointing to a tangle of lines just west of their position. "We'll need more ammo; there's bound to be some here," he said, tapping underneath the name. _Jasper_.

Daryl was familiar with it; hell, he'd been there a few times himself. He hadn't even realized how close they were to his former hometown, a place even smaller and even further north than Jasper. He was a small-town guy, so Jasper always seemed like a metropolis to him. He wasn't sure how well that would bode for them.

He told Rick, "Jasper's not a small place. It ain't Atlanta, but it ain't Mulberry neither."

Rick ducked when Cassie chucked her sleeping bag down from the loft. "Sorry," she said unconvincingly. Daryl rolled his eyes.

"Fuckin' brat," he muttered under his breath. The second sleeping bag knocked the wind out of him.

"Jerk!" she called, blowing a raspberry his way. Annoyed, he kicked aside, where T-Dog immediately tripped over it.

"What the hell, man?" he sniped, glaring at him. Rick had to clear his throat to snap Daryl's attention back from throwing down.

They couldn't leave here soon enough.

When the cars were fully packed up, Rick called everyone together for one last briefing. Lori sat heavily on the bed she'd slept in all week, Carol by her side. Daryl nodded to Carol and she smiled back. Above them, Cassie and Anna dangled from their loft with eerily blank faces peering down on Rick.

"We're gonna try to get some more ammo in Jasper," Rick said. "I know the truck needs some more gas as well," Rick looked at T-Dog for confirmation; he nodded, "so hopefully the cars there haven't been picked already. Daryl tells me that it's a bigger place than Mulberry, so we're gonna make camp outside of town, send in a smaller team. If we're quick and quiet, we can get this run out before dusk."

"We're not staying there, are we?" Glenn asked. "It doesn't sound permanent."

Rick shook his head. "No, it's not."

"So, do we have a plan in the long run?" Maggie asked, raising her eyebrow expectantly. "Or are we gonna keep running until we're too tired to run anymore?"

"The plan is to find a place to _settle_," Rick snarled, what little patience he'd had while looking at the map gone, "a _safe_ place. I don't know where that's gonna be, but right now, we gotta take this a day at a time and make sure we have what we need to survive long enough to find it."

Maggie wasn't about to back down, but a look from Hershel and a frantic gesture from Glenn made her shut her mouth, and her face wore nothing more than a crease above her nose.

_This isn't a democracy anymore_.

Above them, Anna watched the argument with cool eyes. Daryl was a little embarrassed that their dirty laundry was flapping in the wind in front of their new, judgmental group members. He felt somewhat responsible for how unreasonable Rick was being—Daryl _was _his second-in-command, so he should have a little more pull over decisions—but Rick would do what he thought was best, regardless of what Daryl or anyone else had to say.

"I'm thinking it'll be Daryl, myself, Glenn, and Anna," Rick continued, as though he hadn't just snapped at the eldest Greene daughter. "This is a stealth run; no guns blazing, so the fewer people the better. Shouldn't take more than an hour's drive, but I'd like to get going now. Are we ready to go?"

They all exchanged worried glances. Then Cassie came sliding down the ladder, her backpack slung over one shoulder, a perfect picture of nonchalance. "_We_ are," she said, gesturing to Anna.

The others followed her lead, standing slowly and groaning as they stretched their cold limbs. Glenn helped Maggie to her feet and joined Rick at the door. "Yeah, we're good."

Rick nodded, leaving before anyone could say another word in protest. Glenn shrugged to Daryl as he passed, and Maggie just grimaced. The only one who remained in the cabin was Carol. She looked around, her eyes soft as she ran her hand across the bedspread. He cleared his throat. They had to get a move on.

She sighed. "It's a little silly, but I'm going to miss this place."

"I'm not."

"It's cozy, relatively safe," she continued, ignoring Daryl's sour contribution. "It has a bed, which is better for Lori. I'm always worried about her back." He rolled his eyes. Classic Carol—always worrying about everyone but herself.

"It's too far from any town, it ain't as safe as it could be, and it's fuckin' tiny," he rattled off the facts. "It's about damn time we left here."

She shrugged, tossing him a sad smile over her shoulder, "It was home, at least for a little while." When she was gone too, he looked around once more and locked the door behind him.

* * *

He'd heard it said that God laughed while you made plans. Daryl wasn't religious, though. His mother had made him go to church every Sunday, and she boxed his ears every time he used the Lord's name in vain, but that was before she burned with the house. After that, his father was either too drunk or too indifferent to make him go.

Sometimes, when Merle was home from juvie—which was rarely—and not as high as a cloud, he'd drag Daryl's ass to church for some "godly words" or some shit. Daryl wasn't sure how Merle could consider himself a godly man while he fucked the preacher's daughter in the parking lot during the service, but that was Merle's business. Religion wasn't Daryl's.

Still, the quote seemed oddly appropriate now as he glared through the rearview mirror at Anna and Cassie, the former staring aimlessly out of the window and the latter making faces at him. Between them, Maggie sat with her machete between her knees, looking more uncomfortable to be there than Daryl'd ever felt at church.

But instead of God laughing, it was Anna and Cassie.

Oh, they'd both heard the names of Rick's team. Rick, Daryl, Glenn, and Anna. No room for deviation. Those four would be leaving the rest to set up camp just north of Jasper—in a house with a driveway that stretched into the woods for a mile before a big house loomed before them—as they'd begin to siphon gas from the abandoned cars on the road. They'd slowly, quietly creep into town, ransacking houses for guns, ammo, medicine, food, _toilet paper_ (he said this item with special care as he knew T-Dog would have their heads if they came back empty handed; the man was incapable of shitting without it), and anything else that might come in handy. Then they'd sneak out, driving quietly, slowly back to the big house north of Jasper, where they'd sleep. That was the plan.

Then Anna threw a tire-iron into their plan when she didn't deny Cassie's request to come with. In fact, she encouraged her with a rare smile.

Immediately, Lori told the young girl, "Sweetie, I think you should stay here." Rick nodded in agreement.

Cassie was not having that. "I didn't ask you what you thought," she retorted nastily. "I asked Anna."

"Anna isn't in charge," Rick said, shooting said woman a disgruntled look, and she blinked back. "I am, and I'm saying you're _not_ coming with us into a walker-infested town, especially when your aim could use serious work."

Daryl thought Rick had a valid point. Cassie did not agree. "I thought this run was about 'stealth'," she said, lowering her voice when she quoted Rick.

"It is."

"Wouldn't shooting something—good aim notwithstanding—be counterproductive?"

At that, Rick looked like he was seriously regretting changing his mind about asking them to join the group. He tried to argue with Anna instead. "She'll be safer here."

She shrugged. "Safe is relative. Besides, she's done worse and come out alive. If it bothers you that much, I'll keep an eye on her."

But what Anna didn't realize was that Rick wasn't actually concerned about Cassie's safety. No, he was concerned that if he let Cassie go, Carl would protest. Why does the girl who's younger than he is get to go while he had to plant his ass down on the carpet and count cans? Why didn't he get more responsibility? He's thirteen years old now, for Christ's sake!

The moment Rick buckled, because he couldn't argue with Cassie when she said, "I already know all the roads anyway. I'm like a human GPS," Carl started up his tirade.

"Are you shitting me?" he asked, ignoring his parents' reprimands at his language. "I'm just as capable as she is," he jabbed his thumb in Cassie's direction.

"Have you forgotten that you _just_ put this entire group in danger when you wandered off?" Rick snapped, ignoring Carl's salty language.

"That was a _week_ ago," Carl snarled back. Suddenly, Daryl realized how long ago it had seemed, when in reality it had only been seven days. Lives got used up so quickly that a day would feel like a week and a week would feel like an eternity. "I've done _everything _you've asked me to do; I've been a good little soldier, _Dad_." He spat the word like a curse. "That's what you want, right? You're sick of hearing us complain. So, I stop complaining and it's still not enough, is it?"

Daryl sneaked a glance at Anna and Cassie standing side-by-side away from the rest, to gage their reactions to the argument. Cassie was bored and Anna was critical. So, they were the same as always.

Still, exposing the soft underbelly of their group wasn't something he thought they should be doing, at least not until they were hunkered down and safe, even if "safe" was relative.

In the end, Rick thought it'd only be fair if he stayed behind with the group. He sent Maggie in his place, to Glenn's immediate horror. Thankfully, Glenn was so whipped that one sharp look from his girlfriend stopped the argument in his throat. He swallowed heavily and said nothing.

Now, Daryl cut the engine of the Hyundai on the shoulder of the road, just a hundred feet from a gas station that Cassie informed them was on the edge of town. The few walkers that began to lurch over when they drove up were quickly dispatched by Anna's bow and Maggie's machete as Daryl and Glenn pried the front doors open.

Something caught his attention as he absently glanced over his shoulder. "Dude!" Glenn exclaimed, startling all of them out of their focused state. Daryl dropped the crowbar to the concrete, pointing his crossbow at whatever Glenn was screaming about.

Glenn straightened up and jogged over to a dusty, crimson red Ferrari with Florida plates. He pressed his nose up against the glass, crooning to the thing like it was a baby. "It's a Ferrari 599 GTB Fiorano," he groaned, running his hand over the roof of the car with all the care of a man caressing a lover. Daryl rolled his eyes.

"Put it back in your pants," he deadpanned. Maggie snorted into her hand. "Rick wants us back before nightfall."

"Ugh, it's so beautiful," he crooned to the side mirrors, reluctantly parting with it only when another walker noticed him. Daryl shot it and retrieved his bolt before joining the others inside.

Guns, ammo, medicine, food, _toilet paper_. Admittedly, a gas station was a shit place to start, but it was a better idea to clear places as they went along than just skip between the stores they needed. This particular gas station wasn't too well-stocked; Maggie scooped packages of trail mix, Slim Jims, hot chocolate, and instant coffee into her backpack, but other than that, there wasn't much.

As she poked around the counter to make sure there weren't any walkers taking a nap on the floor, Cassie swept aside the broken glass from the freezer doors with her foot, kneeling down and pulling out a dry-erase marker. Immediately, she began drawing lines with it, stopping and making frustrated noises every so often when something didn't look right.

After five minutes of this, he snapped, "You tryin' to recreate the Mona Lisa?"

She huffed, using her sleeve to rub out a squiggle. "I'm recreating a map of this place from memory," she said. "In case we get split up."

He wanted to laugh off her concerns, but unfortunately she was right. Though, if they got split up one more time, Daryl was going to strangle something and Anna was closest.

She scribbled in a small square and capped her marker with her thumb. "Okay," she said, straightening up as the others gathered around her tangle of lines. "We drove south on Burnt Mountain Road and now we're riiiight..." her finger stirred the space above her map, dropping down on a junction of a thick line and thin line. "here."

Anna crouched down, running her finger across a different thick line. "What's this?"

"SR 515. North, it runs back up to the AT; south, it goes into Atlanta."

Daryl grimaced, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder before joining Anna and Cassie on the floor. He hoped neither of them heard his knees creaking as he sat.

"We're gonna work our way across," he said authoritatively, to send a message, if anything. Already, he felt like Cassie was taking leadership, which he was absolutely uncomfortable with. "I've been here just a coupla times, but I know for sure there's a sporting goods store on Church Street. Pretty sure there's a Walgreen's next door, too."

Glenn and Maggie exchanged relieved looks. Before they'd left, Hershel slipped the list of medications they were running low on, as well as one that Lori needed for the baby. Apparently, her blood pressure was high, which was completely understandable considering the shit conditions they lived in. Rick hadn't mentioned it because Lori had asked them to keep it quiet, something Daryl thought was stupid. Still, their marriage wasn't his problem, even if it was starting to get in the way of their survival.

"That knocks off guns, ammo, medicine, and toilet paper," Glenn said, holding up a finger for each item. "What about food?"

Daryl waved to everything north of Church Street. "All this is suburbs. We'll find all the canned shit we need in them. We get the weapons and the medicine and then we'll double back around through the suburbs for food."

Glenn and Maggie looked at each other hopefully, while Anna looked skeptical and Cassie twisted her lips in thought. "And what's our contingency plan?" she asked.

"In case of _what_?"

She stared at him. "Anything. _Everything_. What if we run into another group? What if they're armed? What if they _aren't_ armed and they have a lot of stuff? What if they aren't armed, have a lot of stuff, but also have kids? What if a herd cuts us off? What if—"

"Alright, Jesus," he interrupted, checking for glass shards before leaning back on his hands. "I take it you got one."

"More than one," she said loftily. "Our contingency plans have contingency plans. _We _like to be prepared."

Before Daryl could chuck a miniature box of Lucky Charms at her head, Glenn quickly asked, "So, how do you normally do this?"

"We're on a hill again, so the most likely scenario would be that the biters would flood Church Street from the north," Cassie said, sobering immediately as she gestured to that area of her crude map.

"D'you think there are even so many?" Maggie asked in hushed tones. "It didn't look so bad from the drive here."

"According to the sign, the population's 3,344, and that might have been an underestimate." She shrugged. "Or an overestimate, but it's around that."

"Imagine 3,000 biters are here," Anna said darkly. "Don't you want to be prepared for that?"

No one argued after her addition to the conversation. Glenn grimaced and pointed at the map again. "If that happens, here's what we should do…"

* * *

An hour into the run, and things were going smoothly. After the gas station, they walked down Church Street, clutching their melee weapons like crosses and dispatching the few walkers that noticed them lurking. Unfortunately, it wasn't difficult for walkers to see them. The Ferrari at the gas station was one of the only cars on the street they could use for cover. Considering how close they were to Atlanta, Glenn supposed that Jasper's citizens had tried their luck at driving to the refugee camp when the broadcasts started.

One block from the gas station was the sporting goods store, a tiny Mom and Pop style shop called 'Geoff and Gilly's Guns'n Gabl-ammo', which Cassie had found immediately hilarious. Her sniggers quickly subsided at the sharp look from Daryl.

Inside, all was dark. The windows were shuttered closed, so the only source of natural light they had streamed in through the glass door. Each of them fumbled around with their flashlights for a moment.

But even in the dim light, Anna and Daryl were at home. Once they made sure the store was clear (it was), Daryl restocked his supply of bolts, which had been at a dangerously low level for a few weeks. Anna dug around a few shelves and produced several boxes of shotgun shells before stripping the walls of the guns. Even Maggie was more knowledgeable about firearms than Glenn was, though in all fairness that wasn't saying much.

As the three of them made themselves actually useful by disassembling and reassembling the few guns left in the store, Glenn and Cassie checked out the front counter. Cassie stuffed a handful of Bic lighters into her backpack while Glenn riffled through the cash register, throwing a fistful of twenties into the air to make Cassie giggle. She did.

"Fucking shotguns," Anna mumbled angrily after stacking yet another pump action shotgun in front of her.

"They're better than nothing," Maggie argued.

Shaking his head and removing the small flashlight from his mouth, Daryl agreed, "No, it ain't worth it to take these; they'll just take up room. Y'all've already got, what, ten of 'em?"

"Eleven," she corrected swiftly.

"Plus the four we got…" he shook his head again. "Don't bother with 'em. All they got is stoppin' power. I'd rather take the rifles if they got 'em, and the shells."

"Slug or lead?"

"Is there a choice?"

Maggie glanced around before holding up two boxes. Daryl squinted at her hands and shrugged. "Both, then." He turned to Anna. "Your sniper, it's a Remington 700?"

"Yeah."

She snatched the box of rattling ammunition out of the air when he threw it to her. "This alright?"

"Fine," she said after a moment of close examination. "Takes two-twenty-threes and two-forty-threes, too, if you found 'em."

He scrounged again, shaking the box behind his back at her when he found them. "Got 'em."

"Thank you, Geoff and Gilly," Glenn heard Cassie murmur under her breath, though he knew she had no idea what the hell any of them were saying. Glenn wasn't sure either. It was all Greek to him.

He tried to be helpful only once in the hour that they spent at 'Geoff and Gilly's Guns'n Gabl-ammo'. He opened one of the boxes to count the shells inside, but ended up spilling them all over the floor. After a scathing look from Anna and a fierce scolding from Daryl, he was relegated to the stool behind the counter. Cassie imitated his flailing for a good ten minutes, complete with embarrassing sound effects, before he threw a Bic lighter at her.

As Anna and Daryl continued ransacking the store, Cassie watched Maggie sort through the shotgun shells with a detached interest. "I've tried really hard to learn about firearms, but I can't get into it," she admitted after a fifteen minutes of observation.

Maggie smiled. "Yeah, me neither. But you grow up on a farm, you learn a thing or two about munitions."

She perked up. "You grew up on a farm?"

"Yep," she chirped with a wider grin, and Glenn got a warm feeling in his stomach as he always did when he saw her smile. "We had chickens and horses and everything."

"That's cool," Cassie said excitedly. "I've never been to a farm."

"I don't think I've ever heard someone say it was 'cool' to live on a farm," Maggie laughed. "But I guess it was pretty cool."

Cassie's mouth twitched as she continued to watch Maggie sort the shells. After another few minutes, she asked, "Did you get overrun?"

Maggie's hands faltered for a moment and Glenn put his hand on her shoulder. "Yeah," she said softly, leaning into his touch ever so slightly. "About a month ago." She bit her lip. "We lost a lot of good people."

Cassie had her eyes on Glenn's hand before she looked down at the glass counter, cheeks reddening. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

"It's alright. I'm…tryin' to move on, as best I can." Maggie gave her a tight smile and a pat on her much smaller hand.

Cassie jerked her hand away from Maggie's, as if by instinct. The three of them started at the sudden movement before Cassie breathed a laugh. "Not used to that," she said by way of explanation, and Glenn's heart wrenched for the little girl.

His gaze wandered over towards Anna, where Daryl and she noisily took their guns apart, wearing matching stone faces. She didn't look like the comforting type.

Maggie followed his gaze and decided, for whatever reason, that it was a good time to try to socialize with Anna. "How do you know so much about guns, Anna?"

"Instinct," was her flat reply. Behind her, Daryl's eyes rolled so far back into his head that for a moment Glenn thought he was losing consciousness in an incredulous rage.

"Oh." Wisely, she didn't try again.

Once they finished stripping the walls and shelves of all usable munitions, which was only two handguns and a fair amount of ammo, the five of them poked their heads outside the dark shop to see how far their next destination was.

"Yeah, 'next-door'," Cassie scoffed when they couldn't find the Walgreen's Daryl'd talked about.

"Shut up," Daryl snapped defensively, nudging her back into the darkness. But before he could shove her back in, she nudged past him and squinted down the street, hand over her eyes though the sun wasn't glaring.

"A bookstore!" she exclaimed, quietly enough so that none of the walkers wandering the streets would hear her. She was right; there was a Border's only one block away, with three walkers guarding the doors.

At Daryl's incredulous look, she shrugged. "Might as well, considering the Walgreen's you talked about seems to have gone on vacation."

Two minutes later, as they jogged over to the bookstore, Glenn wondered if this was what having a younger sister was like. He was the youngest in his family, with two older sisters, so he hadn't known what it was like to have someone who could be simultaneously infuriating and adorable.

Daryl and Anna made quick work of the walkers in the parking lot while Maggie and Glenn darted forward to pry the glass sliding doors open. Once they were safely inside, Cassie pressed her nose against the doors, her breath fogging up the glass.

"There's the Walgreen's," she breathed in a nasally voice. Glenn peered over her shoulder. The drugstore was as far from them as it could be while staying in sight. He had to squint to read the sign hanging above the doors.

There were at least thirty walkers in that parking lot, maybe more, and all of them found the entrance too fascinating to leave. They were lucky that none of those geeks had seen the five of them taking over the Border's.

"Medicine and toilet paper," Maggie muttered under her breath, reaching into her pocket for the list of antibiotics Hershel'd scribed for them. They wouldn't be able to get in there, not without drawing attention to themselves. And if they couldn't get in there, they were screwed on the medical front, especially Lori. The next time one of them needed stitches or fell out of a moving SUV, which was unfortunately often, they wouldn't have any antibiotics.

"Well…" Daryl rubbed his face. "Fuck."

* * *

"Absolutely not."

"It's a good idea."

"It's a _bad_ idea."

"Okay, but it's better than anything else we have."

Maggie clenched her jaw. "_No_. We're not splitting up."

Glenn huffed in frustration. He knew Daryl and Maggie would have a problem with his plan. "Maggie, I've done stuff like this a thousand times in Atlanta."

"You knew the streets in Atlanta," Daryl pointed out, shaking his head. "You knew where you could go."

"I have a basic picture," he argued. Then he held out his hand to Cassie. "Give me your marker."

She handed it to him and he drew up a crude map of their position, using a cookbook as the Walgreen's and a self-help book as the bookstore. When he capped the marker, he stood it up on the linoleum. "This is me. I'll run straight across—" the marker hopped forward past the cookbook, "—and break in through the side entrance. They won't even see me. I get in, grab the meds, and come back the same way. It won't take more than half an hour."

"Too many things could go wrong," Maggie snapped, her eyes wide in anger. "What if it's locked up and you can't get in? What if there're walkers inside?"

He glared at her, wishing that she'd back him up on this. But that wasn't Maggie. "Then we'll cut our losses and get the hell out of here," he hissed. "But we have to try at least!"

"We don't have to do anything," Daryl growled.

"What about Lori?" Daryl's mouth opened and shut quickly. "Hershel said she needed that blood pressure stuff as soon as possible."

Maggie groaned and put her face in her hands. "Why do you have to go alone, though?"

His eyes softened at the sight of her distress. "I'm faster alone," he tried to reason, adding jokingly, "And I'm not totally useless with a machete."

Neither Maggie nor Daryl laughed at his feeble attempt at levity. Cassie spoke up, "I'll be your backup."

"No." They all turned to Anna. She didn't look like she'd even spoken, but it was her voice that they heard.

"We did it before," Cassie protested.

She shook her head. "No; last time, he was _your_ backup. This time, you'd be his and, frankly, you're not good enough for that." The girl's face fell, but she had nothing to say in retort.

"Then I'll go," Maggie declared.

That was the last thing Glenn wanted. Not just because he didn't want her in danger but because he knew he couldn't do his job if he was worrying about her. He couldn't use that as an excuse, though. She'd tear him a new one. Instead, he said carefully, "No offense, Maggie, but you're not as fast as I am."

Her eyes flashed in the light. She was angry. But he'd rather she be angry and alive than happy with him and dead.

"I'm goin' with you, then," Daryl said. "You need backup."

He stood up, shaking his head. "Rick put you in charge; you should stay with them." he said.

Daryl rolled his eyes. He obviously thought that was a weak reason to stay behind. Instead, he looked over at Anna and ordered, "You go."

The young woman shrugged. "Can't. Rick said I had to keep an eye on Cassie."

"Are you shittin' me?"

Before Daryl's face flushed an alarming shade of purple, Glenn hastily interrupted, "We're wasting time arguing. I'll be half an hour, tops."

He glared fiercely at Glenn for a few moments, and then exhaled an enraged breath through his nostrils. "Fine," he seethed. "Thirty minutes. You ain't back in thirty minutes, we're comin' to find you."

Knowing that reassurance was the only way Daryl would agree to his insane plan, Glenn agreed. "Fine."

Cassie unstrapped her watch from her wrist and held it out for him to take. "Here," she said, shaking it a bit when he didn't immediately grab it. "It's 11:13 right now, so be back by 11:43."

He'd noticed her fiddling with the strap before, and realized when he put it on that it was because the wristband was too large for her narrow arm. It fit quite snugly on his, though, despite having what his sisters used to call 'chicken ankle wrists'. He adjusted the straps on his backpack and pulled out his Gerber machete with shaking hands.

He knew that a lot of things could go wrong in there, but he also knew that someone had to strip the pharmacy. And he _was_ the most qualified. Still, that realization didn't keep his heart from racing.

When he tried to kiss Maggie goodbye, she turned her head away so his lips hit her cheek. When he pulled away, he saw the fury in her eyes. _If I make it back alive, I'm in _so_ much trouble._

"Don't you dare do something stupid," she demanded, slipping the list of medications into his hand.

He gulped. "Right back at you."

Daryl got the door for him. He watched Glenn with an intensity that he got when he was worried, not angry. It taken Glenn a while to figure out Daryl's expressions; they all looked pissed off.

Before he could start to run, Daryl grabbed his arm, stared him in the eyes, and said solemnly, "Y'know, it only takes one bad day to die."

Those were the words Glenn had rattled around in his skull while he ran to his death at Walgreen's.

According to Cassie's watch, it only took him five minutes to run from the entrance of Border's to the side exit of Walgreen's. _Twenty-five minutes._ He could do this.

At first Glenn panicked when he tried to pull the door open and found it immovable, but he quickly realized that he was so nervous he forgot to turn the knob. After muttering a few insults to himself, he turned on his flashlight, opened the door, and snaked inside.

Coming in from the bright light of midday, the darkness blinded him. He blinked a few times, letting his eyes adjust as he swept his beam of light around the store. A walker was slumped against the wall opposite of him, which began making feeble noises at the sight of him. He put his machete through its skull with a stifled grunt and, breathing heavily, he glanced around. There were a few shelves knocked over, broken bottles and spills everywhere, and there was an excess of useless things like nail polish and make-up.

_There_. The pharmacy. He tried the employee door. Locked. Frustrated, he shook the knob furiously for a few moments before ultimately giving up. He couldn't climb over the counter; the metal grille door was down and locked, which was a good sign for the state of the inventory. The medicine inside was probably untouched, but he had no idea how to get inside.

Cassie's watch read 11:22. _Twenty-one minutes_. He had time. Carefully avoiding the large windows at the front of the store, though which he could see the mob roaming, he began searching the store for toilet paper and over-the-counter medications as he racked his brain for ideas.

He didn't know how to pick a lock, so that was out. The door was pretty heavy, so he wasn't sure how effective throwing himself against it would be. Maybe the key was around here somewhere, but did he have time to turn the store upside down?

_Fifteen minutes._ No, he didn't have time for that.

He tried the second option first. After locating the precious toilet paper and surprisingly less precious painkillers, he stuffed them into his backpack and took a deep breath.

_Bang!_ The sound of his foot hitting the door was much louder than he'd expected. He winced after kicking it the first time, hoping that the mob outside was too distracted to hear him. When none of them began pounding at the glass window, he tried again. _Bang!_

God damn it, kicking a door in looked _way _easier in the movies than it really was.

"Ok, think," he muttered to himself. He knew he'd seen Daryl do it before; how exactly did he do it? And why hadn't he ever asked him how?

"Am I supposed to kick the lock? Or not kick the lock?" He shook his head. "Does this door even open inwards?" He checked; it did. That could've been embarrassing if he kept trying, and then saw that it was an outward swinging door. He didn't know much, but he knew wasn't actually possible to kick an outward swinging door inward.

The watch told him he had eleven minutes left before they came after him. Given that it took him five minutes to run here, he really had six minutes.

_Bang! Bang! Bang bang bang BANG! _The last kick reverberated up from his heel to his hip. And yet the door had not opened.

"Come on," he groaned, shifting his foot slightly to the left. _Bang!_ He kicked again. _Bang!_ That felt right. One last time, with all of his tired strength, he kicked. _BANG!_ The door splintered open and he had to fight to keep his whoop contained in his throat.

Maggie was going to be so impressed when he told her he kicked a door down.

_Eight minutes until they come for me; three until I have to go_. He scanned the shelves and was dismayed at the complicated names. Why couldn't they be labeled easily? 'Take this one when you've got a bladder infection' and 'shove these down your throat when your ADHD is acting up.'

He shined his light on the scrap of paper Hershel wrote the medications on. _Ampicillin, Oxycodone (Percocet), Hydrocodone/APAP (Vicodin), Aspirin_—he mentally crossed this off—_for Lori: __Labetalol (Normodyne)_. Weekends of watching 'House M.D.' told him that Vicodin was a painkiller, and Daryl said his brother took Percocet for a good high, but he didn't understand the others.

_Two minutes_. He was starting to panic. None of the bottles had the names of what he needed. Briefly, he contemplated shoving everything into his pack, but that would be a stupid thing to do.

_One minute_. His hand shot out for a bottle of Ampicillin and he almost cried in relief to find it filled with pills. He stuffed it into his jeans pocket and continued rummaging through labels.

_I have to go now_, he thought, but the underlined medicine screamed at him. _For Lori._

"Shit," he exclaimed, now throwing bottles left and right in a panicked frenzy. _Three minutes left._ Still nothing.

Maybe they were out. At that thought, he snorted loudly. "Yeah, maybe a fucking hypertensive walker just waltzed in here and filled her prescription," he mocked, giving himself a slap across the face. "C'mon, get it together. For Lori."

_Two minutes_. There! His hand shot out before he was even sure it was the right thing. A quick check…it was. Not bothering to close the door behind him, he shot out of the pharmacy, hastily stuffing the bottles into his backpack, before bursting out into the daylight.

The sun was as blinding as the darkness had been. But he didn't have time to blink.

Dozens of walkers turned to the sound of the door opening.

"Oh, shit."

They lurched forward, arms outstretched, and he leapt back inside, barely closing the door in time. He locked it, but he knew that wouldn't last long.

He ran to the front of the store, hoping that the mob had dissipated, but they hadn't. Instead, they noticed his sweaty face through the window and began pounding against the glass.

"Fuck!" he swore, running his hand though his hair frantically.

_It only takes one bad day to die._

He sighed. He supposed it was fitting, to die on the worst day he'd had in a while. Then, raising his machete, he pulled out his handgun and fired at the window. Walkers came spilling though the jagged hole, and he shot each of them in the head as they fell through.

_Bang! Bang! Click. Click._ Glenn shoved the empty gun back into his waistband and pulled out his machete. Then he fought.

Maybe Daryl and Maggie had heard his gunshots and seen the mob crowding around the entrance, and then decided that he was lost. He hoped they'd done that. He was a lost cause, now. But Maggie would live, and that was enough.

Ten walkers killed, and he was still going. _This is it_, Glenn thought, screaming in frustration as he took down another walker that was reaching for his forearm. _God damn it, after everything, this is how I die? Over some medicine and _toilet paper_?_ Angry tears popped up at the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision. He would've wiped them away, but he really didn't want to die with walker guts in his eyes.

_Maggie was so pissed,_ he thought, growing more and more distressed as the walkers kept coming, somehow more relentlessly than ever before. His arms, already weak from exhaustion and malnutrition, felt like they were about to fall off from all of the swinging he was doing.

A growl behind him. He whirled around and shoved a big walker through the plate glass window of the automatic doors. Glass shattered everywhere, as loud as the gunshots. Glenn wasn't too bothered, frankly. He was going to die so what did it matter that some more walkers heard him?

He crunched the glass beneath his feet on the sidewalk. For one moment, things slowed down and he saw everything. The walker on his right wearing a blue apron and a nametag that said "Howdy! I'm Casey!" ripping into his arm with its rotting teeth. The one dragging its upper body along the asphalt, leaving bits of flesh sanded away on the street, taking advantage of his moment of pain and clamping down on his Achilles tendon. Daryl swearing at himself for letting Glenn go off on his own, Hershel holding Beth as tears streamed down her cheeks, Maggie screaming and crying…

And just as he was about to let it all happen, a peculiar sound, faint at first but rapidly growing louder, distracted the walkers around him.

_Well, you can tell by the way I walk,_

_I'm a woman's man, no time to talk._

"What the f—" His question was cut off by the sound of squealing tires before a Ferrari 599 GTB Fiorano came hurtling across the parking lot, windows open, blasting disco so loud that it echoed through the streets, before coming to a screeching halt in front of Glenn. Anna popped her head out of the window.

"Get in, loser. We're going shopping," she quipped, a smirk playing at her lips despite the walkers that threw themselves onto the hood of the sports car.

Smashing the head of a walker that stood between him and safety, Glenn wrenched the door open, flung his backpack in, and shouted, "Go, go!" rather unnecessarily. Anna hadn't even waited for Glenn to shut the door behind him before the pedal hit the floor.

Panting heavily with his mouth open in shock, he stared out of the windshield as the crowd of walkers flew by, trying to grasp something on the speedy car. He looked at Anna, who gave him a quick glance out of the corner of her eye, and back out again. When he looked back at her, he saw her biting her tongue, like she was trying to hold in laughter.

"Jesus!" he finally whispered shakily. Anna burst out laughing at last, long and loud. Glenn tried to glare at her, but the adrenaline began to leave his system leaving him feeling shaky and tired. Coupled by the surprise that she was actually _laughing_, all he could do was join her.

By the time they finished, Anna'd swerved onto the highway and gunned the engine. Wiping the remnants of hysterical tears from his eyes, he asked over the music that still assaulted his ears, "How the hell did you get this car?"

Grinning easily, she replied, "Hotwired it."

"You…"

"Cassie taught me," she said, glancing over in time to see his eyes roll. He of all people couldn't find that surprising.

"And the music?" he asked, turning the volume down so that every walker in the county couldn't hear them. She shrugged.

"Previous owner really liked the Bee Gees."

He shook his head, grinning. "It's perfect."

"No, I'm serious, this CD is just 'Staying Alive' repeated over and over," she said, punching a button and tossing the disc over to him. "I tried skipping it twice."

He laughed, his hands still trembling so hard that he dropped the disc twice before he decided to just toss it out of the open window. "Maggie! And Daryl and Cassie; are they—"

"They're fine," she said, her smile hardly fading. It was downright unsettling seeing her this upbeat, but he didn't draw attention to it. He was a little superstitious like that; maybe if you pointed out her good mood, it would disappear in a puff of smoke. "They went to get some food from some houses."

"Are you sure—"

She glanced at him sternly. "I wouldn't leave Cassie in danger." Her obstinacy was reassuring enough for him to drop it.

"How'd you know I needed help?"

"We could see the biters from the bookstore," she said, shrugging.

"And you volunteered to save my ass?" He was baffled. "Why?"

She licked her cracked lips and kept her eyes firmly on the road, but her reddening ears belied her reluctance to speak. "You protected Cassie, back in Mulberry," she explained quietly. "I couldn't pretend that you didn't."

She was paying a debt. Glenn understood that and was pleased to know that she found _something_ sacred. As long as they helped her, she'd do her best to protect him and the others. That was the way the rest of them worked, but still; it was reassuring to hear that she operated by the same rules.

"Thank you."

She nodded awkwardly before changing the subject. "They're meeting us back at the gas station in an hour."

He thought about the distance they'd driven It shouldn't take an hour to drive back to where they began. "Where are we going?" he asked tentatively.

"We're on SR 515," she said. "Headed south."

"Atlanta?" he questioned sharply.

"We're not going that far; we're gonna double back on the surface streets, to try to lure the walkers away from the others. Is there a map?"

He popped open the glove compartment, spilling roughly fifty maps onto the ground. "I assume you mean a map of Georgia?" He began riffling through. "Map of Miami, Orlando…" He snorted, holding up a garish piece of paper. "Disney World…"

There was a picture tucked in with them that he spent a moment looking at. An older man with a receding hairline and a bit of a gut had his arm around a young blonde woman, and both wore Mickey Mouse ears and goofy grins. He frowned and stuffed it back into the glove compartment, finding the map of Georgia still tucked inside.

"Here," he said, unfolding the map in its entirety.

"We just passed Allred Mill Road," she offered.

"Uh…" it took him a moment to find that tiny street, "Ok, the fastest way we can go back on the surface streets would be to turn left onto Waleska Highway." He traced his finger along the line, for his own reference.

"Got it," she said, a sly smile spreading across her face again.

He stared at her from behind the huge map. He couldn't just sit here and watch her be so pleased. In the week he'd known her, she had never smiled unless it was at Cassie and even then, it was rare. Anna was sullen and curt, not chipper and forgiving. For a second, he wondered if he actually got into a car with a stranger.

"You're…in a really good mood," Glenn stated carefully.

She shrugged. "I'm having a good day. I'm alive, Cassie's alive, and I'm driving a _motherfucking_ Ferrari." She punctuated her statement with a rev of the powerful engine.

He supposed that his day wasn't so bad in retrospect. "Yeah, I'm kind of jealous. Can I drive?"

"You want me to pull over, turn the car off, and get out, just so you can drive a Ferrari?"

"You don't have to turn it off."

She gave him an incredulous look. "_No_."

He folded the map in half and gave her his most pathetic look. "I almost died today; I think I deserve a drive—"

"Shit!" Her arm flew out to keep him from flying forward as she shoved her heel against the car went skidding to the side, giving Glenn a prime view of the highway south in front of them.

The road to Atlanta was blocked by the dead. Hundreds and hundreds of walkers rotted away as they stepped north, with flesh strung from their rotting teeth and blood coating their grey hands, the ones that reached for the red Ferrari. Their groans and screeches grew louder at the sight of their horrified faces through the windshield, and Glenn felt them rattle his bones.

_It only takes one bad day to die_.

"Fuck."

* * *

**So, chapter 7! Kind of a cliffhanger at the end. **

**Thank you everyone who favorited, followed, and reviewed! You're all amazing and I appreciate your patronage, haha. **

**Another disclaimer: I don't know jack about weapons or medicine. I had to do extensive research on both just to have the (probably) inaccurate tidbits in my story, so if anything is incorrect, please feel free to correct me in your review! Also, Jasper is a real place in GA, but I've never been there nor anywhere near there, so the topography of the town is half fabricated, half based on Google maps. And I'm from CA, so I have to remember that apparently everywhere else in the US, people don't put "the" in front of the names of their freeways, and that no one calls highways "freeways". Bleh. I apologize if my dirty CA slang leaks into the southern drawl I'm doing my best to imitate. **

**Ok, I've talked enough. Please review! I love hearing your thoughts about my work! **


	8. Chapter 8

_Tap. Tap tap. Tap. _

Maggie pulled her clicking nails away from the countertop and up to her mouth. "How long's it been?"

Anna suppressed a sigh. "Since you last asked? Eleven seconds."

Absentmindedly, she wished _she'd_ given her watch to Glenn instead of Cassie, because now she had to deal with Maggie's sudden onset time obsession.

"Twelve minutes," Cassie supplied instead, shooting Anna a warning look. Anna raised her eyebrows at the young girl sitting cross-legged on the floor with _The Ultimate Pregnancy Guide _lying open in her lap. She'd become obsessed with the subject since finding out that Lori was pregnant, and delightedly gathered up every pregnancy book she could find as soon as Glenn'd left. They sat teetering in a pile beside her, taller than her seated form. Anna wasn't sure what she was going to do with all of them.

Maggie jerked her head in a nod and resumed her nail tapping, complete with pacing back and forth along the front counter. After a few more maddening moments of the sound, Anna was glad when Daryl finally snapped, "Stop it."

"He shouldn't've gone alone," she stated immediately. Shaking her head, she said, "He shouldn't've gone at all."

"We need those medications; your dad said so," he argued wearily, as if he was growing tired of the argument before it'd even begun. "'Sides, Glenn ain't stupid; he can take care of himself just fine. He's gonna be back 'fore you know it."

For a blissful moment, she seemed to calm down, her shoulders slumped infinitesimally. Then, she began to hum under her breath, nervously shaking her legs out. "How long's it been?"

Anna pointed two fingers at her temple, pulling the fake trigger with her thumb, and answered, "Thirteen minutes." Cassie shook her head at her, an exasperated look on her face.

Maggie missed all of this and nodded again, biting her thumbnail viciously. Not ten seconds went by before she pulled her backpack on and declared, "We need to go after him."

But when she tried to pop out through the front doors, Daryl stepped in front of her path with his arms crossed over his chest.

She gritted her teeth. "Move."

"Fuck that."

"_Move_, Daryl." Anna had never seen someone resemble an angry kitten more than she did at that moment.

Daryl was obstinate, his brow furrowed and his mouth scowling. "He said thirty minutes. We're givin' him thirty minutes."

Maggie shook her head. "He could be dead in thirty minutes."

"Hell, _we_ could be dead in thirty minutes."

"That's not reassuring."

"I wasn't tryin' to be."

Anna turned away from the argument, rolling her eyes. They bickered like children. In a sense, they were more childlike than Cassie was. At least Cassie could hold her protestations long enough until they were safe again; not in the middle of a supply run, when everything could go wrong even when everyone was on board.

Didn't they know it was better to bottle up all emotions, negative and positive, and let them spill out at a later, more inopportune date? She snorted internally. That'd been her family's motto.

"We wouldn't even be havin' this problem if that fuckin' _princess_ agreed to be his backup!" Daryl's harsh voice pulled her attention back to their argument. She blinked and saw him waving his arm at her.

"What?"

"Don't blame her!" Maggie hissed, ignoring Anna's vacant expression. "You're in charge; you should've told him not to go—"

"I _did_," he snarled back, stepping forward in anger, stopping just before he grabbed her by the upper arms. At the flash of fear in Maggie's eyes, he seemed to realize that he was scaring her, and holding Anna and Cassie's rapt attentions, so he took a second to close his eyes and breathe.

"Just…save your dysfunction for when Glenn's here, alright? I ain't dealin' with this shit." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cassie bite her lip to keep from laughing.

Maggie found it much less amusing. "'My dysfunction'?" she echoed angrily. "I don't think it's 'dysfunctional' to worry about my boyfriend gettin' himself killed for shit we don't need!"

"'Shit we don't need'?" _God, is there an echo in here?_ "Lori needs that medication—"

"Oh, Lori needs it. Probably half the shit we go on supply runs for is for her, and she doesn't do jack."

"Um…" Cassie put aside her book nervously. Anna shook her head in warning. She didn't need to get in the middle of a pointless fight.

"She's fuckin' pregnant; the hell d'you expect her to do? 'Here's a Winchester; why don't you blow that walker's brains out, _mommy_?'"

"Maggie…"

"I just think Rick doesn't mind risking our lives for his family. You don't find that frustrating at all?"

"Both of you, stop it," Anna said at last, glancing over at Cassie's rapidly paling face, her own going white.

"Like you can tell me what to do, little girl—"

"Shut up," Cassie interrupted his rant, beckoning them over with a shaking hand. "Be quiet, and move towards us slowly."

Daryl frowned. "Wh—" his question abruptly cut itself of when he looked out of the front windows. Maggie gasped.

In the few minutes that they were arguing, the street had flooded with biters. Quietly, they came; so quietly that only Cassie, with her clear view of the street, noticed them. The way they'd watched Glenn dart through only twenty minutes before was filled with dozens of rotting corpses, staggering along.

"Oh, God," Maggie said, her voice hitching as she took a shaky step backwards, away from the window. Daryl grabbed her arm to steady her.

"They look like they're movin' south," he said lowly, softly, in comfort. "In a few minutes, they'll be gone and he'll be back."

It wasn't reassuring, though. The herd was not moving quickly enough for the way to clear. For whatever reason, they filled the street and stayed there.

Maggie wasn't stupid enough to fall for his meager reassurances. "He's alone," she whispered, shaking her head. "He can't take them all. We need to go help him, Daryl. Daryl, please—"

"No," he shook his head and tightened his grip on her struggling arm. "We can't take 'em either. We gotta wait."

"That's bullshit!" she said as loud as she could without her voice permeating the doors. "Glenn needs our help. You can't just stand there and let him die."

Anna said nothing at that because her contribution would be the last thing Maggie wanted to hear. Glenn was as good as gone. She'd believed that the moment he kissed his girlfriend goodbye. Rick had told her to keep an eye on Cassie; that was true. But she refused to be his backup because it was a death sentence.

"I'm sorry," Daryl kept saying, his eyes filled with grief. "I'm sorry."

Cassie was at her side, tugging on her jacket sleeve. They weren't actually so different in height, Anna and Cassie, but still the girl tended to grab her attention that way.

"Anna," she whispered. Anna looked at her. Her eyes were enormous.

"We can't help him," she said, glancing over to make sure Daryl and Maggie hadn't heard her. "Maybe if he's very lucky, he can find his way back. Odds are: he's done."

Her eyes shone as she pleaded, "Anna."

"Cassie."

Usually, Cassie would drop the subject after hearing her name spoken in such a curt tone. But not today.

She begged, "Please, Annie. Can't you do something?"

_Shit_. Anna didn't give a rat's ass about Glenn; she could admit that easily to herself. She didn't care about any of them save Cassie, who was her entire world. Not even Maggie, who'd vouched for her and been kind to her, was on her radar. Any of them could die and she wouldn't bat an eye in mourning.

But Cassie, with her heart too big for her small ribcage, who'd taken to these broken people in a beat of her swollen heart—she would cry. And she would hurt, and she would remember that Anna was selfish and cruel.

Daryl could call her a bitch every minute of every day and she'd never care. But Cassie could look at her with disappointment in her big eyes and Anna would crumble like dry clay under the sun.

The plan was already forming in her mind when she dropped her backpack to the ground. The sound startled Daryl and Maggie out of their panicked haze.

"Cas, stay out of trouble," she said, gathering up her weapons. Her Beretta was already holstered, her knife strapped to her side in its sheath, her hatchet hung from her belt loop, alongside her quiver. She kept a knife tucked in her boot, but she'd given her bowie knife to Cassie for the day.

"Where the hell you goin'?" Daryl asked roughly as Cassie handed her the knife and her bow. "No one's goin' out there right now."

"Just poppin' out for a stroll," she said, trying to push past him. He grabbed her shoulder.

"You deaf?" he sneered, his face coming close to hers. She never realized how incredibly filthy he was. "Ain't nobody goin' out there right now."

"I'm gonna go get him."

"The hell you are!"

"Aw, Daryl, I didn't realize you liked me."

For a moment, his face was so red that she was able to shake herself from his grasp. "I don't—you—!"

She rolled her eyes and buttoned up her army green jacket. It was thick, maybe not quick as thick as it took to hold off a bite from a biter, but she wore two more layers underneath for that reason. "I'm joking, dipshit."

Before Daryl could riddle her with bolts, Maggie stepped forward. "Let me go with you."

She tilted her head. "My plan doesn't call for a copilot."

"You have a plan?" She looked relieved. "What is it?"

"Are you serious?"

Realizing that time was of the essence, she shook her head. "Never mind. Just bring him back, please."

She took a hairband off of her wrist and pulled her short hair up into a ponytail, tightening it so much that the corners of her eyes stretched.

"We'll meet you back at the gas station in…" she glanced at her watch. "An hour. If we ain't there, consider us goners and get the hell out of here." She shrugged, "Might as well get some food before you meet us."

Daryl was unamused by her nonchalance. "Are you kiddin'?"

"I'm not really a kidding type." It was becoming a kind of game for her: see how many times she could get Daryl to roll his eyes. Extra points for a disgusted expression. "Y'all need anything else? Or can I go save your boyfriend?"

Maggie and Cassie shook their heads, but Daryl said, "We don't have a fuckin' watch."

_Oh, my god._ Not for the first time, she wondered how they were still alive."Then take that fuckin' clock off the wall and wear it around your neck like Flavor Flav, I don't care."

"I'll keep track of time," Cassie said quickly, nodding her assurances to Anna with a small smile. Her heavy heart felt lighter for it.

"Thank you."

"Hey." She stopped in her tracks at the sound of her voice, as she always did. She turned around and Cassie was twisting her fingers together. "Are you scared?"

She smiled at her. Their customary farewell was comforting in its familiarity. "Yeah."

"Good."

Daryl got the door for her. "You protect her with your lives," she said softly. "Or I'll kill you."

He nodded grimly and let her go. Just before the door swung shut and all she could hear was the sound of moaning dead, she heard him say to Maggie, "They're gonna be fine."

She knew they would. She had no plans of dying today.

* * *

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit, fuck, shit."

Glenn's stream of curses really summed up their situation. Anna had never seen so many biters in one place before. Hundreds of them, all starving and screaming for blood, reaching for the Ferrari with gore falling from their mouths and undead desperation in their fingertips.

She threw the car into reverse, too startled to spin it around immediately, and drove backwards for a good fifty meters before finally whipping the car back the way they'd come. A glance in the rearview mirror showed her the mob following.

"They must've been coming from Atlanta," Glenn babbled quickly. "No more food in the city, so of course they're leaving. And why wouldn't they take the roads? I mean, _we're _taking the roads, it's the same for them—"

"Stop talking," she snapped. His nervous chatter was giving her a migraine. "If I can't exit at Waleska Highway, where can I go?"

"Uh." He scrambled to unfold the map. His hands shook so violently that it took him a few seconds.

"Hurry!" _Damn, I miss Cassie_. Her level-headedness in high-stress situations was a thing of beauty, especially compared to Glenn's panicky failing.

"The next exit, Boling Fountain Road," he said, squawking when she turned down that exit so quickly that his face smashed against the passenger side window. "Ow."

"I want to avoid Jasper altogether," she explained, ignoring his glare, "We can lure this, uh…"

"Herd," he supplied, holding his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "We call them herds."

She turned her head sharply. "You've seen 'em do that before?" She'd never seen anything like it. Of course, she'd just spent months high in the mountains, eating bark and bugs and pretending like the world wasn't overrun by dead people. Still, biters weren't social creatures; they didn't crave companionship. Running in herds made sense to humans, but biters didn't seem to have sense.

He saw the confusion on her face. "We don't know why they do that."

"I've seen a few of them together, and I always thought that was weird, but hundreds?" she shook her head. They didn't have time to think about biters amassing into veritable armies, not now. It was unsettling, though. "Find me a way around Jasper and back to the gas station."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Leaving the bookstore was surprisingly simple. A quick look around the back of the store revealed an exit that opened with relative ease, so they sneaked north, towards the houses they'd been planning to ransack from the very beginning. And although Daryl would have liked to go straight back to the gas station to wait for Glenn and Anna, they desperately needed food and warmer clothing.

Daryl directed them to a fairly nice one story house, not too far from where they began. Clearing it was easy—there were only two walkers inside, and both were caught unawares—so they began sorting through the former tenants' supply of canned foods and winter clothing.

"Try this on." Daryl turned around to find Cassie holding out a bundle of rough cloth. He gave her a blank look.

"You want me to wear a Snuggie?"

She looked at him incredulously. "Do you know what a Snuggie—never mind. Just put it on."

Still eyeing it warily, he took it from her, letting it unfold. It was beige with black and red geometric patterns and was essentially indistinguishable from a blanket.

"A poncho?" he asked, annoyed. She nodded emphatically and even Maggie, distracted as she was, smiled at her enthusiasm. He rolled his eyes, but complied. Somehow, this little girl could command them all.

He had to put down his backpack—and Anna's; Cassie'd tried to carry it but he'd insisted on taking it— and his crossbow to yank it over his head. After a moment of enduring their scrutiny, he barked, "So?"

"You look like you're in a spaghetti western," Maggie commented as she put a can of tomato soup into her backpack.

"Really cool," Cassie added without a hint of irony.

His face grew hot. He turned back towards the cupboards to hide his flushed cheeks. "Shut up," he mumbled embarrassedly, biting the inside of his cheek when he heard them giggle.

Fucking girls.

Cassie was remarkably upbeat considering the fact that Anna was out there rescuing Glenn from a sea of walkers. Daryl wondered what it was like to have so much faith in someone; a child's faith, he supposed. But even as a kid, he never remembered trusting people the way she trusted Anna.

"They're going to be alright," he heard her say softly to Maggie.

"Yeah," Maggie said in reply.

When Maggie left them to raid the medicine cabinets in the bathrooms, he sidled up beside the little girl as she sifted through winter coats on the living room floor. He watched silently for a while, smirking as she grunted in annoyance when she checked the sizes. They were either too big for her or way too small. She managed to find one that she commented would fit Anna perfectly, and another that she thought Carol would like.

"She said that thing to you, at Mulberry," he said suddenly.

She looked at him through her lashes, annoyance sparking in her eyes. "You'll have to be more specific," she said dryly, tossing aside an obnoxiously crimson raincoat.

"Why d'y'all ask if you're scared?" he clarified, rubbing the back of his neck.

She mouthed, "Oh," and sighed.

"It was when we first met, or a couple days after." She shook her head. "I don't remember specifically. It was kind of a crazy couple of days, you know? I'd just lost my brother; she'd just lost her sister. And I was so intimidated by her, because…well, you've seen her."

He rolled his eyes. Yeah, he'd seen her.

"I really wanted to prove myself and impress her, because I'm smart but she's smart too. And in the right way."

He chuckled. "The right kind of smart?"

She twisted her mouth. She didn't like to be laughed at, he knew. "Strategically oriented," she said primly. "Properly paranoid. An efficient trafficker of materiel."

"Yeah, I got it." She _really_ didn't like to be laughed at.

"So, we got trapped in this warehouse. There are dozens of walkers outside and she tells me to open the door, let them in one at a time so she can take them out. Right before I open it, she asks me if I'm scared.

"I was terrified, of course. But I didn't want her to think I was weak, so I said that I wasn't afraid. She didn't say anything until they were all dead. Afterwards, she told me that she wanted me to be afraid; because that meant I was afraid to lose my life and that I still valued it. When the day comes that I'm not afraid anymore, I'll be ready to die."

He thought about that for a moment. "That's some heavy shit."

"Yeah."

Shaking his head, he clarified, "No, I mean, that's a lot of shit."

She repeated, "Yeah." This time, she threw a toddler-sized pink overcoat at him. He batted it away with ease.

"So, we just say that to each other now," she went on, shrugging. "Right before we do something kind of crazy."

He snorted, holding up air quotes. "'Kind of.'"

When Maggie came back in, backpack in hand, Daryl and Cassie were throwing winter coats at one another, yelping whenever a zipper caught them in the face.

"Hey, stop," Maggie protested and they halted mid-throw, luckily just as Daryl was reaching for the umbrella stand.

Unperturbed, Cassie tossed the sweater in her hand and rummaged through the coats before holding one up to Maggie. "Do you think Glenn would fit this one?" she asked, looking around it in excitement.

Maggie's frown softened into a smile as she sank onto the floor beside them, her bag rattling with the pills she'd found. "Yeah, and he'll love it," she agreed, looking like she wanted to gather Cassie up in a hug.

Daryl appreciated her optimism, that she believed Glenn would live past this day and would need a coat to keep warm in the coming winter. Her confidence was infectious and he found himself irrationally hopeful, for the first time in a long time.

* * *

"Ok, this is gonna become McClain Mountain Road," Glenn said as the edge of his map began to list into her view. "We'll stay on this for, like, a mile…ish. Then you'll want to make a left on Cove Road, which'll take us right back to Burnt Mountain Road."

"Fine," she said, shoving the map out of her way. She hoped he wouldn't talk anymore. She was having a relatively good day, and it could be so easily ruined by his incessant chatter.

For a bit, he was quiet, amusing himself by looking over the map of Disney World. She put her elbow against the window and rested her forehead in her hand. It was nice, driving a Ferrari through the mountains. She'd never been to Georgia and she was finding that she liked it quite a bit. Of course, she usually preferred fewer roads and higher altitudes, but it was nice enough.

Glenn drummed his fingers on his armrest. "We have enough gas?"

"Yep." She popped her lips on the 'p'.

He nodded awkwardly and started ripping the Disney map into multicolored strips. She glanced over at his hands. _Restless,_ she thought. _Probably worried about the others. Strong sense of loyalty to his group. _That quality could work in their favor; at least in Cassie's favor, anyway. Anna couldn't see herself being a part of their group. She would be the tumor connected to Cassie and Cassie would be a part of the group. Hell, she already _was_ a part of their group and it'd only been a week since they'd met.

Cassie had a way of charming people, even with her mouthy nature. She'd easily charmed Anna within minutes of their meeting and even Rick, who seemed like an inherently suspicious person, was wrapped around her finger. Coupled with her sharp mind, Cassie had what it took to survive well into this oblivion.

It was in the early days that Anna had realized that she did _not_ have what it took. She knew how to hunt and track and survive, but she wasn't even remotely likable. That quality had nearly killed her too many times.

"So…" Glenn drawled, unable to hold the silence. She sighed; he probably needed to talk to keep his mind off of the others. "You're from Kentucky."

The comment was so mindless that she didn't dignify it with an answer.

He pursed his lips, trying again meekly, "Is it…did you like it there? I mean, I've never been there, so I'm just kind of curious. I lived in Atlanta before all of this, but I'm originally from Michigan."

_The answers to the questions I never even wanted to ask._ She widened her eyes at the windshield, tightening her hold on the wheel, trying to brace herself against his onslaught of blabbering.

"You know," he said, getting suddenly very excited, pointing his index finger at her and shifting in his seat so that he was facing her. "I've been wondering: how'd you learn how to shoot a bow and arrow? Like, to me, it seems like kind of strange skill to have, so what got you into it?"

"A fat baby with wings taught me when I was twelve, said I'd spread love one day," she said, and immediately changed the subject overenthusiastically, "Hey, have you ever played the quiet game?"

He held his hands up in surrender. "Yeah, okay, message received," he said and silence descended on them once more.

* * *

The second house they hit was just a block from the gas station. It wasn't as big as the one Rick and the others were holed up in, but it was brighter. It gleamed in the sunlight, bright white and green, and the front door was unlocked.

The stench inside was intense. Daryl breathed through his mouth until he fished his bandanna out of his back pocket and tied it around his nose and mouth. Behind him, Maggie buried her nose into her elbow and Cassie gagged.

It wasn't coming from the kitchen, or the dining room, or anywhere downstairs actually. After leaving Maggie and Cassie in the kitchen to gather up the food, he crept up the stairs, trying his best to ignore the growing scent of decay.

Upstairs, it was unbearable. He stood on the landing for a moment, pressing his mask to his face and trying to keep his eyes from watering. Daryl shook his head and began looking for the source.

After searching every room on the floor, he pressed his palm against the last door, his crossbow raised to his cheek. He tried to ignore the way his heart clenched at the sign on the door.

_Sammie's Room_.

He mentally counted down, _3, 2, 1, _and shoved the door open, finger ready to fire a bolt.

But inside, there was nothing more than a crib with ruffled blankets inside, a starry mobile hanging above it, and the corpses of two people, a man and a woman, slumped against the wall on either side of the closet door. Their blood and gore painted the white walls behind their heads.

He lowered his crossbow, sighing heavily. It wasn't the first time he'd seen this; not even close to the first time. He knew how this worked. Crouching beside the man, he pulled the revolver out of his cold grip, which was not an easy feat. Damn rigor mortis set it a _long_ time ago, judging by the amount of maggots crawling through the hole of his skull. After much cajoling, it popped out of his hand.

He checked the chamber. Empty. He'd probably find the bullets for it somewhere in the house. He stuffed it down the front of his jeans.

Just as he was about to leave, he noticed a folded up note taped onto the door. Glancing over his shoulder, he plucked it away and began to read.

_We waited for a cure, but we can't wait anymore. When they find the cure, please save our Sammie and take care of him. We were too afraid to live without him—please protect our baby boy. _

Daryl frowned. Then, slowly, he put his ear up against the closet door and knocked.

He jerked away at the sound of a tiny body came ramming against the door, amid high-pitched growls and desperate scratches. For a second, he thought the thing inside would turn the knob, only to realize that the parents had the foresight to tie the door shut with a bungee cord connecting the doorknob to the heavy dresser in the corner.

"Oh." A small voice made him whirl around, dropping the letter to no one in surprise. Cassie stood in the door, a dust mask covering her nose and mouth. But he could see enough in her eyes to know that the sight shocked her.

"I told you to stay downstairs," he barked, immediately regretting his harsh tone. Only Daryl Dixon could fuck up so royally in this situation.

She didn't seem to notice, only giving him a dazed, "Yeah," before she disappeared.

He cursed to himself. Dealing with people dealing with death was not his forte. Especially not when those people were twelve years old.

As for the walker in the closet, he left the boy there, still hissing and scratching for exit. Maybe one day someone would find the cure, and he'd be saved. He knew the real reason he didn't put the kid out of its misery, though.

On the dresser in the corner, the one holding the door shut, there was a photo of a little blond boy, no more than two years old, being smothered in kisses by the dead woman. He couldn't put a knife in a toddler's brain; not like this, anyway.

He shut the boy's bedroom door softly, leaving the note taped to it and carving his own warning beneath the piece of paper: _Dead inside._

Downstairs, Maggie and Cassie moved around the kitchen in near complete silence. Maggie shot him a worried glance, tilting her head in Cassie's direction in question. After how chatty she'd been the entire run, it was strange not hearing her voice.

He came up behind her as she stuffed jars of peanut butter into her backpack. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," she said after a moment. "Yeah, it just kind of reminded me of Andy and Kate." At his blank look, she clarified, "That couple that helped my brother and me."

"Right." He remembered that story very well. She hadn't seemed at all broken up about it when she retold it, but it was obviously more traumatic than she'd let on.

_Of course it was_, he thought, mentally kicking himself, _nobody can see two people with their brains blown out and _not_ be traumatized._ Hell, he was going to have nightmares tonight after seeing those two and imagining the little boy walker in the closet, day after day, slowly rotting away…

He shivered. It was Sophia all over again.

He went over to help Maggie. She sneaked a look over her shoulder at the silent little girl, and asked, "What was up there?"

He took a glass container filled with white rice off of the shelf and handed it to her, shrugging. "Two people, they opted out."

She released a shaky breath. "Oh," she said, sounding very much like Cassie had. He didn't mention the boy in the closet; she didn't need to know.

She excused herself to the bathrooms, leaving Daryl with Cassie in the kitchen. Shifting his feet, he kept his eyes on her as she sat on a stool by the island, pulling her backpack up in front of her and laying her head down on it. It couldn't have been comfortable; it was filled with boxes of bullets and cans of soup. He knew he should say something, but how was he supposed to deal with this situation?

Thankfully, she spoke first. "When we were on the AT, it was different," she said, her words muffled by the mask. "We didn't really see anyone or anything like that," she waved her hand towards the stairs. "We could almost pretend all of this wasn't happening."

She said 'we', but Anna didn't seem like the type who could forget.

"There was a walker in the closet, wasn't there?" she asked. He winced; he wished she hadn't noticed it. "Did you kill it?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Why not?"

"He wasn't hurtin' nobody," he answered, thinking,_ I don't want to put a bolt in a baby walker's brain unless I have to._

"So?"

He narrowed his eyes. "So, why bother?" he said slowly, the edge of his words lilting in question.

She shrugged. "One less walker in the world."

Before he could question the point further, she was standing at attention, her backpack over her shoulders. Maggie came back in, brandishing a half-empty tube of toothpaste. "How are we on toothpaste?" she asked, her breath fluttering the bandanna around her mouth.

"Hell if I know," he barked. She rolled her eyes, but shoved it into her bag anyway.

"We're good; let's get back," she said hurriedly. She was impatient to be reunited with Glenn, and, frankly, so was Daryl. Only Cassie seemed serene.

"Are you sure we're done here?" she asked, lazily drawing open a drawer and fishing around the knives inside. "We still have ten minutes. Which reminds me—" she reached into her pocket and pulled out a green plastic wristwatch. "Here's another watch; found it upstairs."

As Maggie strapped it around her wrist, Cassie started giving them shit. "Watches are really useful, you know," she said obnoxiously. "I get that you don't want to tell time or whatever, but digital watches can also be used as stopwatches or alarms."

"Yeah."

"I think all of you should get watches," she continued, ignoring Daryl as he put his forehead in his hand. "To be honest, sometimes I wonder how you guys have survived this long."

Before Daryl could start swearing at her, the sound of a powerful engine zoomed past the house. Daryl looked out of the window right as a flash of red slipped out of sight. He slung his crossbow across his back and grabbed the two backpacks. "Let's go!" he called, flinging the front door open and running for the Ferrari.

He hoped for Anna's sake that Glenn was with her.

It skidded to a halt beside the Hyundai, mud spattering the driver's side door. As Maggie, Daryl, and Cassie sprinted over, the passenger side door opened and Glenn popped out. He barely had enough time to drop his backpack before Maggie tackled him in a hug.

"Hey, I'm fine," he said, laughing into her ear. Her only response was to shove her tongue down his throat, which he responded to immediately and with gusto. Daryl immediately averted his eyes.

Cassie and Anna's reunion was much more subdued, yet somehow equally private. The girl wrapped her arms around Anna's torso, and in that one moment, all of the tension in Anna's face melted and her lips curled up into a small smile as she rubbed Cassie's back. Maybe it was just the sight of a smile on her face that felt private to Daryl; she did it so rarely.

"Got the meds Hershel needs for Lori," Glenn said, holding up his backpack triumphantly, Maggie still clinging to his neck. "Also, enough toilet paper to wipe a diarrheic elephant's ass, thank you very much."

At that, Maggie pulled away from him, a disgusted look on her face as Cassie whined, "Gross." He shrugged.

As usual, Anna said nothing; only stared at Daryl with her eyes narrowed. Just as he was about to tell her off for creeping him out, she smirked.

"Nice poncho, Eastwood."

"Blow it out your ass," he retorted immediately. Her smirk widened.

Glenn interjected quickly, glancing between the hunters nervously, "Hey, we ran into a herd on the highway."

His shoulders tensed. "How far from here?"

Glenn plucked a map out of the passenger's seat, and pointed a spot that wasn't so far from where they were. At least, it wasn't far enough for Daryl to relax.

"We should go," he said.

Her amusement long gone, Anna said, "The car's still got a fifth of a tank. Do we have anymore empty cans in the back of the Hyundai?"

Daryl went to check. They had three total—across all of their vehicles—and each could hold 5.3 gallons of gasoline. They'd brought all of them along on this run and had managed to fill two of them up to the brim. He pulled out the third one, only partially filled.

"Yeah," he said, dropping it at her feet as she fished around the floor of the Hyundai for their modified hose, pointedly ignoring her ass hanging out of the door.

Thankfully, the others didn't notice his reddening cheeks and just threw their bags into the back of the car. As Maggie pulled the door shut, Glenn said, "I think we should just keep it," with an overly nonchalant shrug.

Daryl caught sight of Anna rolling her eyes as she began siphoning gas from the Ferrari. Maggie patted his shoulder with a sympathetic smile before joining Cassie in the back seat. "Sorry, babe."

"I didn't get to drive it," he muttered petulantly, slipping in beside Cassie, who looked positively thrilled to be sitting next to Glenn.

Daryl stood beside Anna's crouched figure, keeping guard with his crossbow at the ready. "How big was the herd?" he asked, now that the other three were safely packed away in the backseat and unable to hear the tinge of fear in his voice.

"Huge," she answered gravely, with a pale face. "There were hundreds."

"You've never seen that many before?"

She shook her head and he saw her hands tremble as she held the hose to the can's nozzle. "No," she said. "But I don't think they're following us. They saw us, but they only saw us heading east. We're okay for tonight."

When he nodded, the last of the gas dripped into the dirty red can. "I'll let Rick know when we get back," he said. "We can steer clear of it."

"Did you major in biter migration patterns?" she drawled, capping the can and standing shakily.

He brushed off her sarcasm, attributing it to her fear. Carol would be so proud if she saw him now; not rising to the bait. "Let's go," he said, pulling the keys out of his pocket.

She followed for a moment before suddenly she halted in her tracks. She turned her head towards the town, curiosity in her gaze. It took him a moment to realize that she wasn't right behind him. He whistled softly to grab her attention again. Her head remained perfectly still, though the veins in her neck jutted out in their tension.

"What're you doin'?" he asked.

She held up a hand to him. "Didn't you hear that?" she said, gazing through the tree line. He followed her gaze and found nothing but trees.

"It's nothin'," he reassured her. That wasn't true; whatever she'd heard was probably a walker or maybe a squirrel. He clarified, "Nothin' more'n we can handle. C'mon, we gotta go."

"I heard something," she snapped coldly, meeting his stare with eyes huge.

"I didn't hear anythin'," he replied, just as icily. And for whatever reason, the anger dropped from her face and revealed a flash of utter terror in her eyes. It was there so briefly that he might have imagined it, before she was stoic again.

"Fine," said Anna. She stalked to the car, threw open the passenger side door, and sunk into the seat, her eyes closing in exhaustion. In the backseat, Glenn and Maggie threw each other meaningful looks.

He shook his head to himself, glancing back where she'd looked; completely convinced she'd heard something. He saw nothing— no walkers, no squirrels, not a single sign of life or death. _Well, she doesn't seem all that stable anyway_, he thought. _Maybe she's crazy_.

Daryl shook his head once more and walked away, back to the car. He put the key in the ignition, ignoring the strange woman sitting shotgun while his head was filled with thoughts of her.

* * *

**This one is shorter and yet more of a bitch. Whew, I'm glad it's done. I may come back and rewrite it at some point because I'm not totally pleased with it. **

**Thank you to everyone who faved, followed, and reviewed, though the reviews are not as abundant as I'd like them to be. :( Seriously, even if you just want to tell me that you hate this story, let me know. **


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

In the first week that followed the near fatal supply run in Jasper, Anna barely spoke a word. Daryl didn't know if it was because the herd on the highway had frightened her into near silence or if she was still wary of them, but either way it was blissful. He could have gone without the constant glaring, but at least she wasn't biting off sarcastic remarks.

Unfortunately, Cassie had none of Anna's inhibitions. Sure, she was quiet when she had to be—on hunting trips with him and Anna, she was as quiet as a mouse—but back at camp, she chattered up a snarky storm. If he was honest, he didn't mind it so much. She was a tough kid with a strange sense of humor that Daryl found himself smirking at on more than one occasion.

And Glenn and Maggie adored her. Glenn still didn't realize that the girl was crushing hard on him, while Maggie seemed to think it was cute. She opened up to Beth and Carl as well, and they easily included her in their friendship; Beth more than Carl, but Carl would do anything to look good in Beth's wide eyes. Hershel spent his limited free time teaching her medical procedures that she had an endless fascination with.

Yet despite how easily she adjusted to their group dynamic, she still spent a majority of her time at Anna's side. She was familiar and, underneath her chattiness, Cassie seemed naturally reclusive. And it was easy to escape the group by sticking close to Anna; no one was willing to even come close to her when she gave everyone death glares. A large area of their camp was usually dedicated to her line of fire— what Daryl called "unholy ground," at which Maggie rolled her eyes.

Camp was a different place every day. After Jasper, they spent only one night at the big house before starting west.

"I wanna keep at least 50 miles between us and Atlanta," Rick'd said to them over a breakfast of canned corn. No one argued with him; no one wanted to get close to the city.

So, every day of that week, they made camp somewhere new—sometimes in nice houses, sometimes by parking the cars just off the highway and sleeping in them—and the next morning, they packed up and left so early in the morning that they could barely see each other in the dim light.

It was exhausting, to say the least. Each day, Daryl watched Beth and Carl grow more and more haggard, the permanent dark circles under their eyes deepening into veritable black eyes. When they'd gone seven days without resting for more than a few hours a night, Hershel quietly insisted to Rick that they needed to settle down, at least for a few days. The nonstop driving was starting to wear on Lori.

It was on a scouting mission that Daryl found the ranch. He cautiously poked around the wraparound porch, intensely aware of how alone he was, and stayed outside of the house. It reminded him of Hershel's farm, though obviously not as well maintained. Months of no upkeep added up surprisingly quickly. Rickety wooden fences surrounded the house, sections shattered into pieces, but most of it still intact. It wouldn't keep them safe from a herd, but it could trip up a few walkers. All in all, it would do for a few days, but it wasn't a place they could hole up for the rest of the winter.

The group was hopeful when he returned with a description of the place, or as hopeful as they could get nowadays. By the way Rick pursed his lips Daryl knew he didn't like the sound of it, especially when Daryl compared it to Hershel's farm. There was a reason they weren't there anymore and it might be stupid to run back to a place just like it.

Still, it was better than running. Rick, Daryl, T-Dog, and Anna cleared it of the walkers; all five of them locked in the basement, emaciated and weak. As Glenn and Maggie dragged the bodies outside to line the fences, to serve as walker deterrents, the rest of the group brought in their bags.

"This is nice," Carol said to Lori with a smile. "Maybe we can stay here for a while." Lori tentatively nodded, glancing around the dusty living room.

Rick ghosted inside just in time to hear Carol's assurance. "No," he said, dropping a duffel bag full of firearms beside a dead fern in the corner. "We're staying here a few days, nothing more." Then he left again, as quietly as he came.

As Lori looked at her feet and continued to unpack, Carol glanced at Daryl with pleading eyes. He shrugged back. He agreed with Rick; they needed someplace with high walls, not broken fences. They'd recuperate here and then move on, keep searching. They didn't want to get caught by a herd, not again. Especially when most of their people barely knew how to hold a gun, let alone make consistent headshots.

It'd been a while since their first and only shooting lesson. Daryl thought it was high time for another one, especially now that they had plenty of ammo to spare, thanks to the embarrassingly named ammo shop in Jasper. He brought this up to Rick as he grabbed a sleeping bag out of the back of the Hyundai.

"I think we should have another shooting lesson," Daryl said, slinging the bag over his shoulder by the strap. "We got the ammo, there's a fence we can use. We'll have the cars ready if the gunshots draw a herd."

Rick was less enthusiastic about that idea. "Should we? We should just take some time to rest; figure out where we're going from here."

When Daryl imagined getting some R and R, he imagined shooting things. He realized that others might find target practice less relaxing than he did.

"I think it's a good use of our time," Daryl said. "I'd feel a lot better leavin' them behind while we're on runs if they were better shots."

Rick shut the door, his forehead crinkled as he considered it. "Maybe…in a few days, right before we leave. That way, if the sound draws a herd, we'll be on our way out anyway. I'll get back to you."

That was more agreement than Daryl could have hoped for. "Fine," he conceded.

* * *

The house had four bedrooms, which meant that Daryl, T-Dog, and Rick had to fight over a plush full-sized couch and a considerably less desirable loveseat. At first, he was fine taking it—he was used to sleeping on worse than cramped sofas—but after he sat down on it and nearly fell through the middle, he decided he would punch someone in the face for the couch.

The others turned in early, exhausted from all the driving and hauling. Maggie and Glenn were the first to head upstairs, followed immediately by Hershel and Beth. Daryl suspected that Hershel hoped the young couple wouldn't think to try anything if they knew Maggie's father and sister were in the next room. By the look on Glenn's face as he left the living room, Hershel had the right idea.

After a while, the only ones still awake downstairs were T-Dog, Daryl, and Cassie. Anna paced on the porch; it was her watch shift. Rick was upstairs, keeping watch from the second story window. He wasn't sure how well anyone could see from up there, but he suspected that Rick was staring blankly out at the field of waving grass, seeing nothing but blurred glass. _Whatever_, he thought to himself sarcastically; _I'd rather he got all his crazy out now._ As opposed to when they'd need him sane.

Cassie was still awake. She'd claimed she didn't want to sleep until Anna did, but she also asked them if she could join their "slumber party," so he didn't know what to expect from her.

For a long while, she silently sat on the thick carpet in front of the fireplace, throwing dollar bills into the fire and smiling as she watched them burn. There was something very satisfying about seeing money burn, Daryl had to admit. When she ran out of bills to burn, she tucked her knees under her chin and held up her hands to the flames, her skin glowing gold in the light. Daryl alternated between watching her blink at the fire and cleaning the guns.

T-Dog was the first to break the peaceful silence, the book on impressionist artists that he'd found under a couch cushion dropping from his hand with a _thump!_ "Your girl don't talk much, do she?" he asked Cassie, drawing back the blanket they'd hung up to block the firelight from shining through the windows, training his eyes on Anna as she made her third turn on the porch in ten minutes. Cassie just shrugged her shoulders.

"Not really," she replied, crossing her arms on top of her knees and laying her head in them. "She only talks when she has something important to say."

Daryl understood that. He didn't get people like Glenn or T-Dog or, hell, even Carl sometimes. They always had to be saying something and most of the time, what they had to say was complete bullshit. He wasn't used to people like them—the ones who only felt comfortable when they could hear themselves talk. Of course, Merle'd loved the sound of his own voice. But at least back then, when it was just the two of them, Daryl could retreat into the forest for a couple of days to remember what his heartbeat sounded like. Now, he was lucky if he could take a shit alone.

Anna seemed like him in that sense—he could see that she would have felt more comfortable if she and Cassie were out on their own again. The way she tensed up when T-Dog laughed a little too loudly, how she kept her hand resting on the butt of her gun, how she kept one eye on Cassie at all times, when the little girl thought she wasn't looking.

He liked to think that he'd gotten better, though. People in the group looked to him for guidance and support and at first, he'd told them all to shove it. But now he actually didn't mind being someone they looked to for guidance and support. He felt important, more important than he'd ever felt in his life. Figures, he snorted, it took the frigging apocalypse for his life to get better.

Daryl looked up from the guns at the sound of light footsteps descending. Rick appeared in the doorway, eyes as blank as was now usual.

"You see anything up there?" T-Dog inquired. Rick seemed surprised by the question.

"No…not really, no," he replied distractedly, sinking down on the couch beside him. Daryl silently confirmed his suspicions: Rick had been brooding alone.

"Daryl." He nodded absently in Rick's direction, to let him know he was listening. "Can you organize target practice? I'm thinking in four days." He nodded.

Cassie sat up sharply, twisting her body around to look at Rick. "Target practice?" For whatever reason, this was terrible news for Cassie. "With guns?"

"Yes," Rick said patiently. "We could use the practice."

She looked nauseous. Daryl asked, curiously, "What's your problem?"

She tilted her head from side to side. "Nothing, just…" she sighed and quietly explained, "Anna gets super intense when we have gun training and it's kind of scary and I'm really bad at it and I never get any better." By the end of her run-on sentence, she was mumbling and looking at the fire again.

The men exchanged amused glances. She was clearly uncomfortable admitting that something didn't come easily to her. "That's why we're doing this," Rick explained. "Maybe we could get someone other than Anna to teach you."

"I don't need to be taught," she insisted with a frown. "I know how to shoot; I'm just not that great at it. And Anna thinks I can become the next William Tell with a Glock 19 if I work hard enough."

As if she could hear them talking about her, they heard the front door creak open and closed. Then Anna was there, eyes cold on the three men sitting around Cassie.

"Why're you still awake?" she asked hoarsely. Daryl, T-Dog, and Rick didn't answer; Anna only ever initiated conversation with Cassie.

"I was waiting up for you," the girl replied. There was some wordless exchange that completely went over his head, communicated entirely in raised eyebrows and hard eyes.

"I'll be up in a minute," she said at last, frowning. Cassie didn't move until Anna jerked her head towards the stairs. "Go on." Her tone brokered no argument, so Cassie slowly dragged her feet out of the room and up the stairs.

With one last glare at the rest of them, she made to follow. "Hold up, Anna," Rick said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. She stopped. "I have a favor to ask of you."

She said nothing, which was as good of an acknowledgement as any, coming from her.

"We're organizing a round of target practice in a few days, and I'd like you to work with Carl. I think he could use a firmer hand than mine."

Her eyes darted from Rick to Daryl, to T-Dog. Daryl glared right back, but T-Dog dropped his eyes down at his lap. _Pussy_.

"And the missus is onboard with this, is she?" she asked.

"It's not up to Lori," Rick replied coldly, as his voice was when he talked about Lori nowadays. "It's up to Carl. And you."

_But mostly me._ He didn't have to say the words out loud; everyone got the message loud and clear. He posed his order as a question, and now they just waited to see if she could follow orders.

Unsurprisingly, she could not. "No, I work with Cassie," she said.

"I actually wanted to teach Cassie, if you don't mind. I haven't seen what she can do, and I like to know everyone's abilities."

That was a load of bullshit if Daryl'd ever heard it, and Anna knew it. Her eyes darted towards the stairs where Cassie had just ascended.

"Fine," she agreed softly. She didn't humiliate herself by arguing the point. Cassie didn't want her help. For someone whose entire existence seemed to be based around one person, it must have been devastating to hear that that person didn't want her.

* * *

"Show me your gun."

Reluctantly, Carl handed his Beretta to her. He hadn't complained yet, but she knew he was as displeased with this arrangement as she was.

Of course, no one was as unhappy as Lori. When Rick announced who would be training with who that morning over the fury of packing, Lori immediately demanded to speak to Rick in private, shooting Anna glares as they went into another room to argue in furious whispers. When they came back, Rick's jaw was so tight; Anna expected to see broken teeth falling out of his mouth when he spoke again. And Lori's face was red, her eyes teary. But neither one had another word on the matter, so now Anna and Carl stood away from the rest of the group, and further back from the fence.

She examined his sidearm. Beretta 92FS, with the weirdest looking suppressor attachment she'd ever seen. The make was essentially the same as the M9 strapped to her thigh; the only difference was that hers was a military specification. Which made sense; she'd plucked it off a dead soldier's corpse.

Handing it back to him, she said, "Pretty piece."

Shrugging, he replied, "It's alright."

"Where'd you get that suppressor?"

He shrugged again. "Just found it."

She could sometimes see how people could find her personality grating. Vague answers were strangle-worthy offenses. She turned to the fence, a good fifty meters in front of them, wine bottles sitting atop the posts, and pointed at the one directly in front of Carl. "Shoot."

He took aim. He had good form—feet shoulder-width apart, head tilted down the sight, support arm dipped. He'd been taught by a professional, did the whole breathing before the shot and everything. But he took a long time to get into position—too long, she noted absently, as she did when she found a weakness in anyone, and filed it away.

_Bang!_ The bottle shattered, red wine bursting over the fence. Carl looked at her, like a puppy looking for a treat. She didn't have any.

She jabbed her finger at the mess of red bleeding into the wood. "That took you thirty seconds."

His face fell. "It's far away," he said defensively.

"You said that twenty-five meters was too close," she reminded him slowly. "Should we move up?"

"No, I just…" he trailed off, scowling at her condescending tone. "This is practice! I'm trying to get better!"

"You obviously need to," she snapped, her patience disappearing. She was normally a fairly patient person. But for whatever reason—maybe because she hadn't slept well in months or maybe because she realized that Cassie was _afraid _of her, enough that she didn't want her help—she found her patience running razor-thin. "If you want to get better, you'll do as I say and you won't talk back again, is that clear?"

He gaped at her, furious. She repeated the question, "Is. That. _Clear_?"

From the look on his face, he was either going to burst out crying or kick her in the shin. She was pleasantly surprised when he jerked his head into a nod.

She got the impression that he was used to being praised and found her teaching style less than encouraging. Her eyes drifted over to where Rick was crouched beside Cassie, smiling softly at the girl as she held her gun up with all the confidence of a newborn colt. Only a half an hour into the session and Cassie seemed to be miles ahead of where she was when Anna first put a gun in her hand.

She frowned, turning her attention back to her new pupil. "Next one over. Get it in one."

He raised the gun again. This time, he took even longer, carefully lining up his shot, peering down the sight, taking several deep breaths to relax the muscles in his arms. She shook her head.

"You're taking too long."

Not dropping his position, he snarled, "I'm _aiming_."

She shrugged and began cleaning under her fingernails with her hunting knife. "Don't aim."

That surprised him enough to drop his arms back to his sides. "_What_?"

She shoved her knife back into its sheath on her belt and tapped her middle finger under her eye. "Look at your target and squeeze the trigger. Your eye knows where the bullet's going."

"That doesn't make any sense!"

"You talk back a lot, don't you?" she said in a soft voice. When she took that tone with Cassie, the girl would immediately clam up.

But Carl faltered for only a moment before regaining his bravado. "I'm not talking back," he talked back. "I just don't get what you're saying."

She cocked her head at him, studiously examining his features. "You think you know better than me."

"No, but—" He shook his head. "You have to _aim_. You can't just shoot."

"Rick taught you how to shoot, didn't he?" she asked suddenly. He blinked in confusion before nodding.

"Yeah, he and Shane taught me. He was my dad's partner; they were cops. He…died a while ago." He looked at his feet.

There was clearly more to his death than he was willing to divulge, but she didn't give half a shit about some dead cop. More important was the knowledge that Rick had been a cop before shit hit the fan. She'd suspected it for a while. She'd run into enough trouble with the authorities as a teenager to know the look, one of perpetual disappointment at any sign of insubordination.

"'Respect the weapon,'" she drawled in an exaggerated impression of Rick's lazy twang. Carl looked up curiously. "Cops always start with that. 'Y'all gonna start by holdin' the gun in your hand; get a _feel_ for the power over life and death.'" She shook her head.

To her surprise, Carl's lips quirked up. The speech must've been familiar. "Did you learn from a cop?"

"I learned from my dad," she corrected swiftly. That was technically true. He was the first person to take her to the shooting range and put a gun in her hand, but he only did it once. He probably felt he'd done his duty as a red-blooded American by teaching his ten year-old-kid how to shoot, and felt sufficiently fulfilled after their one shooting session.

"He wasn't a cop?"

She bit back a scornful laugh. Her father had been an office drone with one shotgun in the coat closet— in case of burglars, as everyone did in their neighborhood. But he didn't know the second thing about guns. "No, he was a bookkeeper."

"Oh." He furrowed his brow. "Is that, like, a librarian?"

"Yeah." It wasn't, but they were getting off track. "I'm just trying to say that your father taught you like a cop would. Frankly, you're better than that."

Despite himself, his chest puffed up in pride. She wasn't in the business of complimenting people, but she was in the business of knowing your strengths. It was almost as important as knowing your weaknesses. Carl was a good shot, with the potential to be amazing.

"But," she added, watching with a little too much pleasure at his physical deflation, "you're not nearly as good as you think you are. And you have a lot to learn."

"I'm better than Cassie," he argued, pointing his finger at the girl. She didn't want to look at her; she felt too much resentment for her companion right now and she was disgusted with herself for it. Cassie was afraid of her, but Anna knew she couldn't change. Being gentle was what killed her sister, and nearly destroyed Anna.

She was desperate for Cassie's love and acceptance, but she'd rather be hated by her than loved by her ghost.

"Cassie knows what she's good at and what she's bad at," she explained carefully. No amount of bitterness could change her opinion of the girl. "And she knows when to listen."

_Unlike you_. He glowered at the unspoken words. That was his weakness—he wanted to be treated like an adult. And he thought taking advice from anyone was a staple of childhood. She knew he felt this way because she remembered being that age and she'd been more like Carl than Cassie as a kid. She'd been arrogant, too; arrogant and angry and, most of all—lost, in every sense of the word.

She'd been lost in the geographical sense the day she met Crow, the man who'd smacked the arrogance right out of her and the one she mentally credited as her shooting instructor. She'd wandered into a dive bar on the middle of a Saturday afternoon, where he was downing his third shot of whiskey. Theirs was an odd friendship; even odder than the one she had with Cassie at the end of the world as they fought flesh-eating monsters together. She'd been an overly-curious twelve-year-old girl with peculiarly sharp teeth; he a grizzled, fifty-year-old Vietnam veteran with the foulest mouth in the Bluegrass Region.

She didn't like thinking about him, though she realized on some level that she did it often. She'd internalized his words so thoroughly that sometimes she could convince herself that they were her own. _Know your weaknesses. Know your strengths. You don't have to be strong; just stronger than the other guy's weakness._

Anna wasn't sure if his advice and their tenuous relationship had made her a better person or worse, but she'd certainly changed. Sure, he'd taught her how to shoot straight and tie tight knots and skin a deer in thirteen minutes flat, but he also bought her a lot of beer and told her to thrash the kids who tried to make fun of her. She could definitely say that her performance in school degraded significantly after junior high, in every subject except for Biology.

Her teacher was _very _impressed the day they dissected frogs.

Carl's voice snapped her attention back to the present, at the gun in his hand. "I know when to listen, but I don't take shitty advice! You know," he scoffed, "the only reason I'm stuck with you is because _Cassie,_" he spat her name like one would spit out a mouthful of rotten milk, "is such a terrible shot! And whose fault is that?"

She raised her eyebrow at him. She couldn't argue with the fact that Cassie was a terrible shot, and that it was Anna's fault, and that Cassie would probably do better under Rick's careful eye. But she wouldn't say her advice was shitty; it had come straight from Crow's mouth.

A violent alcoholic probably wasn't the best inspiration to draw on when she taught Carl or Cassie how to shoot, but it was almost instinctual. She shook her head. It was so instinctual, she thought, that she realized just how much like him she'd become in the eleven years since they'd met; so instinctual that she had a hard time divorcing her personality from the memory of his.

What would he have said to Carl? _You fuckin' punk-ass kid, think you know better'n me? I was in _'Nam_, you little cunt. If I even _thought_ half the shit you're spewin', I'd'a gotten myself scalped faster than I'd even noticed._ That was almost verbatim one of the first things he said to her twelve-year-old self as she sat beside him at the empty bar, mud in her scraped knees and leaves in her hair. She probably should have cried, but she'd only stared at him in awe. Anna had a feeling Carl wouldn't react the way she had.

So she did what Crow might've done if he was sober and far less fucked up in the head. She pulled her Beretta from her side, lifted it with her right hand, and squeezed the trigger. _Bang!_ The bottle shattered. She pointed to the next one. _Bang!_ _Bang! Bang!_ The bottles the others were attempting to shoot exploded, earning her a shout of indignation from Daryl and a concerned look from Lori. She ignored them, looking back at an astonished Carl.

"I use my 'shitty advice' every time I shoot my gun," she said to him with a shrug. "I must be _real _lucky."

He didn't have a snarky comeback to her sarcastic drawl. He only had wide blue eyes.

She slipped her gun back into the holster strapped to her thigh and leaned forward. She didn't have to duck her head at all to meet his gaze; they were the same height. "Do you think you can learn from me?" she asked softly, dangerously.

After a moment, he nodded and she was glad. "Good," she said and her tone sparked anger in his eyes, as it had a tendency of doing in every person she talked to.

He glanced over his shoulder at his mother and father, too far away to hear him say, "No offense, but you're kind of a bitch."

"Keep sweet-talking me and I might let you cop a feel." She punctuated her threat with a lazy wink and an exaggerated lick of her top lip. The boy flushed bright red and stuttered on the rest of his words. She filed his reaction away for later reference. "Shoot."

* * *

Five days after they'd arrived at the pretty house, they got back on the road. Anna preferred the road, at least to the flimsy walls of the house. She didn't feel very safe in a house that groaned at every gust of wind. Being out on the open road was obviously no better, but at least the group was more alert. Something about four walls and a roof sparked an innate feeling of security that even Anna had a hard time suppressing. The house made them complacent. Complacency got you killed.

Though it was more conducive to healthy sleeping patterns, she had to admit. Not for her; her body didn't discriminate between sleeping in a bed in a house and curling up in the front seat of the truck. In both situations, her sleep was short and interrupted. But Cassie had slept through the night in the house, and woke up fresh as a daisy. When they were on the road, her eyes developed heavy bags and she yawned endlessly, though she never said a word in complaint.

Anna used to kid herself—she thought that Cassie never complained because Cassie was a tough kid. She didn't realize that she never complained because she was afraid of what Anna would do or say or whatever. She hadn't ever complained because she didn't feel safe.

_She seems to feel safe enough with them_, Anna thought with a scowl as she watched Cassie wave her arms excitedly at a laughing Glenn. _And whose fault is that?_

As she drowned herself in a potent mixture of pity and self-loathing, Daryl thought that was the perfect time to walk over and speak. He was somehow more oblivious than he looked.

"'Ey, I'm goin' huntin'," he announced.

She tipped her head. "And you have my permission."

He rolled his eyes. "You're comin' with."

"I know you like spending time with me, but don't you think it'd make more sense for us to cover more ground by going our separate ways?"

His eyes rolled again. "I'mma teach you how to hunt smaller game, 'cause you're pretty shit at it. Thought you might benefit from some extra instruction."

She'd be the first to admit that she wasn't so great at hunting squirrels and rabbits, which they ate far more often than they ate deer. It would've been hypocritical of Anna to refuse Daryl's instruction when only two weeks before, she'd told Carl that he should acknowledge his weaknesses. She had no problem being a hypocrite, but she would like to get more practice. She agreed.

So, now they were here, in the woods, bows in hand and mouths clamped shut. Anna understood the basics of squirrel hunting, which involved a lot of sitting and waiting. Apparently, Daryl was beyond that.

"Quit starin' at the ground," he snapped. Her head shot up. It was instinctual for her to look for tracks in the forest, having spent so many years hunting deer. "Squirrels ain't hangin' around on the ground. They're up in the trees."

That made sense. She found it strange, craning her neck upwards at the trees with an arrow nocked in her bow, but it was a muscle that needed to be worked after years of looking down. When Crow first starting teaching her how to hunt, he smacked her around the head because she kept looking up at the trees. She was coming full circle.

_There_. A squirrel nestled into the crook of a tree. Daryl and Anna were stealthy enough that it didn't notice her drawing back the bowstring, taking aim. But she hesitated for a moment too long. The squirrel darted up the trunk and was gone.

He clicked his tongue at her. "Took too long," he said.

_Really? I didn't notice._ She flicked her thumb over the fletching on her arrow as she let it slide forward. It was sort of poetic; the problems Carl had had two weeks before at the house were now hers. Carl would've enjoyed seeing her failure. They hadn't become any chummier since their tenuous shooting practice.

"Sorry," she said softly, for lack of anything better to say. It'd been her go-to response to criticism from Crow, mainly because talking back usually got her a cuff across the back of the head. He hated apologies just as fiercely, but he wouldn't hit her for them.

Daryl seemed to hate them just as much. "Don't apologize," he growled in an uncanny impression of Crow's smoky voice, though he didn't know it. "Jus' don't take so long."

"Got it."

He added as an afterthought, "I've seen you nail a buck's eye from a hundred feet; it ain't no different." A reassurance—that was something Crow never gave her. She wasn't sure if she liked it or not.

"Okay."

The next squirrel they found, she loosed an arrow quickly. It pinned the tiny body to the tree; not through the eye as Daryl easily did, but it was a start. She suppressed the urge to skip when she retrieved her arrow and the squirrel.

As she tied the tiny corpse to a string that hung around her neck, Daryl scanned the forest around them. They weren't so far out in the woods that they didn't occasionally cross dirt roads and stumble upon abandoned shacks. Without a word, he slipped through the brush and disappeared.

She sighed, but followed. For a while, they padded through the underbrush in silence, Anna right on Daryl's heels. She took the moment to stare at his shoulders, covered in that jacket she'd worn the first time they hunted together, a leather vest with angel's wings embroidered on the back slung over it. He was smarter than he let on, so she suspected that he'd had quite a laugh when he first put that thing on, understanding the irony of it.

She'd fuck him, she realized. He wasn't traditionally good-looking, but he had a nice build—broad shoulders, slim waist, toned biceps— which was what she usually looked for in a liaison. She hardly looked her sexual partners in the face, anyway.

Since she started having sex at a scandalously young age, she'd been accused of being cold in bed—_though, _she thought, _I rarely fucked in a bed, so that's a baseless accusation_. She dismissed them easily. The men who accused her of that were the ones that desired romance, something that she had told them she wasn't looking for. Anna supposed that when propositioned with casual sex, men didn't think very far into the future.

This was all in the past, though. Of course, she hadn't had too many opportunities to fuck around since the dead started walking, but even so. Ruby had been her sole priority until she'd died, and then Cassie. She wasn't so selfish as to leave Cassie alone so that she could fuck a guy. She probably wouldn't be able to focus long enough, anyway.

Besides that, Anna had Daryl pegged within days of their first meeting. For all his macho posturing, he was insecure and socially awkward. If she came on to him, he'd sputter and turn red and leave to go shoot something. As it was whenever she wanted him to leave her alone, she'd purr out a suggestive comment and watch him lose his shit. She could string him as easily as she could string her bow.

He turned back to look at her, gesturing to a winding highway that appeared out of the trees, a string of small shops laid out beside it—a gas station, a diner, a garage, and a post office. They must've been near a campsite, she thought. Campsites always had one of these tastes of civilization nearby.

Daryl frowned. "Worth checkin' out?" he asked her.

She shrugged. None of those places were traditional goldmines in terms of supplies, but some of her best finds had been in unexpected places. She'd found her M16 under a pew in a church. "Might as well."

They started from the gas station and worked their way south. No gas, as they expected, but they found a few cans of Spam and about fifty bongs, so they took the meat and left the weed paraphernalia. As Daryl investigated around the refrigerated drinks, Anna silently slipped a carton of Marlboros into her pocket. She didn't smoke, but she knew Daryl did. She'd keep them until she needed a favor from Daryl.

The diner had three biters inside, which they quickly put down. Daryl found a sawed-off under the counter and Anna gutted the metal napkin holders, but other than that there wasn't much in the diner. If Ruby was still alive, she would've dared her to down a bottle of ketchup to make her giggle. She didn't dare Daryl; she didn't think he'd giggle.

It was in the car repair shop that they ran into trouble.

At first, nothing was wrong. The rolling metal door was up, so they didn't need to break down the back door to get in. A shell of a car with peeling paint sat inside, a biter wearing a mechanic shirt trapped under it. Anna quickly stuck her knife into its skull while Daryl checked out car parts.

"Your truck need new spark plugs?" he asked, wrist deep in a box of spark plugs. She shrugged, hoisting herself up on the hood of the dead car, kicking her legs lazily.

"I dunno."

"You don't know."

She ran her fingertips aimlessly over the fading paint job. "Nope."

He shook his head in disgust. "You know what a spark plug is?"

She pointed at the spark plug in his hand. "Is that it?"

He turned away from her, muttering curses under his breath, and abandoned the spark plugs to test the level of an oil can. She smiled to herself; _I can string him easier than my bow_.

Suddenly, the sound of a car engines was loud in their ears. Anna saw an entourage of pickup trucks and SUVs parking in front of the gas station through a mirror before the drivers slammed open their doors, bearing assault rifles and enormous knives gleaming on their waists. She slid off the hood quickly.

In his haste to step away from the open garage door, Daryl knocked over the can of motor oil, spilling it across the cement floor. "Shit," he hissed.

Anna waved him over to the back door, wincing as it opened with a rusty creak. "Should we try to run?" she whispered. "Or should we just wait for them to leave?"

"Run," he ordered, reaching over her head and pushing the door open further. Out of sight, one of the men laughed so loudly that it sounded like he was standing immediately beside them. Daryl recoiled. They were closer than they'd realized. They might not be able to run fast enough to avoid contact. And judging by the amount of heat they were packing, Anna didn't think they'd be afraid to shoot them down.

"There's a ladder," Anna said, pointing under his arm at the flimsy looking ladder attached to the side of the garage. "We can wait them out up there."

Daryl had no arguments there, though they did have a moment of furious gesturing at the base of the ladder—he thought she should go up first and she thought he was a piece of shit. But they figured it out—Daryl climbed up first, scowling the whole way, while Anna made sure they didn't get caught by the rapidly approaching strangers. She followed shortly after, stringing her bow across her front. Her only squirrel nearly slipped off of her neck a few times, but she made it to the top without incident. On the last rung, Daryl grabbed her wrist and roughly yanked her up onto the roof, still scowling.

It was a flat roof with a slight lip, so they easily could crouch without being seen. Anna played it safe anyway; she army-crawled across the baked roof to the road side, peeking over the edge at the loud men with big guns.

_Fourteen…no, fifteen,_ she counted. Each one was bigger than the last, and each one either carried an assault rifle or had one slung over their shoulder. If they ran into their group and decided they wanted to take everything they had, they could do it. Easily.

"How many?" Daryl asked, crouched beside her.

"Fifteen," she breathed. "All packing major heat."

He exhaled swiftly through his nose. "What're they doin'?"

She checked again. Some of them went inside the gas station, others into the diner. There was one group of five that paced outside both, talking loudly with one another. In her experience, groups that made a lot of noise out in the open were _not_ people you wanted to get mixed up with. Maybe they were drunks or maybe they were idiots; whatever the reason, they tended to be violent and unthinking.

She looked back at Daryl. "Looking for supplies," she guessed.

Daryl looked over the edge for himself, narrowing his eyes at the pack of men. He turned back, pulled his crossbow off of his back, and leaned against the edge of the roof, pulling his legs up and resting his elbows against his knees. He rubbed the back of his neck wearily. "We'll wait 'em out, I guess," he repeated Anna's words.

She mirrored his position, putting her bow beside his and rested her head back against the half-wall. Then they waited, listening in silence as the bandits hooted and hollered and smashed windows with extreme prejudice.

They spent fifteen minutes at the first two stores before they made their way over to the garage. It was only then Anna could decipher their slurred words.

"Naw, man, d'you remember that one chick outside of Macon?" a youthful voice crowed. "Biggest tits I ever seen on a woman. Fuck, she was good."

"I think you fucked a cow, man," a deeper voice drawled, setting off another round of laughter. Anna sneaked a glance at Daryl's face just as he was glancing at her. For once, they seemed to agree: _these guys have shit for brains_.

The first voice struggled to make itself heard over the peals of laughter. "Fuck you, Jim. You're jus' jealous 'cause you ain't had any action that weren't from Mr. Five-Fingers in weeks."

More laughter. Another voice, raspier, added, "If you'd just come along on that run, you'd a gotten as much cooze as the rest of us. The momma was uglier'n life, but she had pretty daughters. Three blondes…fuckin' gorgeous. And the daddy, too, 'cause I know you're into that kinda shit."

"Fuck you."

Anna's blood ran cold. She probably should have been horrified at the thought of an entire family raped and most likely murdered, but her mind immediately drifted to Cassie. It made Anna sick just thinking that someone as good as Cassie was on the same planet as these walking buckets of shit.

By this time, Daryl was so tense that he actually resembled her bowstring. He clenched his jaw and tightened his fists, probably to keep himself from jumping up and shooting them all down. If he tried, he'd get shot down in seconds.

They had to wait and listen to them brag about looting and raping and murdering. She knew she could take it; she'd done it before, with her hands clamped over Ruby's ears as her sister sobbed into her chest. Compared to that time, this would be a walk in the park.

For one terrifying moment, she realized that they would know that someone was there. Daryl'd dropped a can of oil when they showed up, which would still be thick on the pavement. Besides that, the trickle of blood from the biter's skull was probably still bright red on the ground as opposed to a brown stain on the concrete. She hoped that those men were as stupid as they sounded, and could not deduce their position from those two clues as she and Daryl could've easily done.

She pulled her bow into her lap, stroking the limbs to soothe her nerves. The rhythmic motion caught Daryl's eye and seemed to unwind him. His shoulders relaxed, his jaw unclenched and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

They sat there for two more hours before the bandits got into their cars, still laughing, and drove away. Then, they sat there just a little longer before sliding down the ladder and slipping back into the forest. When they made it back to the group, all they had was a squirrel, a few cans of spam, and thoughts of screaming blonde girls and their weeping, dead mothers.

* * *

**I know this is a week later than usual, but I had a lot of trouble with this chapter. I knew I wanted to explore more of Anna's character and I wanted to dispel some of the mystery around her, so I hope this chapter does that.**

**Again, I don't know the first thing about guns or hunting or cars, so if you do and my information is wrong, I apologize. Drop me a line and I'll see what I can do. Honestly, I don't know why I keep putting in shooting lessons and hunting sessions when I don't know anything about them. The only criteria I had for choosing Anna's gun was, "oo, that's pretty." Also, a lot of research, but mainly because it's pretty.**

**OH, I got the nicest review from a guest and I just wanted to thank you effusively! I was fluttery all day after I read it and it really helped clear my writer's block, so thank you! And thank you everyone who reviewed, favorited, followed, and read this story and please keep it up! **


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Anna shifted uncomfortably, her head resting against the driver's side window. She'd stuffed her raincoat between her head and the door, but it hadn't done much to keep the muscles in her neck from stiffening in the night. She breathed sharply through her nose, crossed her arms tighter over her chest, and closed her eyes.

Only to open them again after a few minutes of restlessness built up in her bones. She kicked her legs in the air a bit to dispel the weary energy. She didn't understand how she could be so tired and unable to sleep at the same time.

In the darkness of the cab, the sight of her watch glowing sickly green caught her attention. 6:46 in the morning. With an exhausted sigh, Anna dragged her hands roughly down the sides of her face.

She was calling it now. Another sleepless night.

Cassie was worried about her, she knew. Ever since they'd joined the group a month ago, the number of hours a night she would close her eyes had dwindled, which, in Cassie's eyes, was counterintuitive. One of the reasons they'd joined a group was so that they could split the labor across more people. That way, Anna could actually sleep through the night every so often.

But that was hypothetically. In reality, Anna couldn't sleep surrounded by them. In reality, she felt like they'd stepped into a pit of poisonous snakes that hadn't decided if they wanted to befriend them or bite them. She realized how dramatic that sounded, even in the privacy of her own mind. They'd been nothing but kind to Cassie, if justifiably wary around Anna. Yet she couldn't shake the deeply ingrained behavior.

She wasn't wired to relax.

She was tempted to slip out of the car and walk around to clear her head, but a quick peek out of the window crushed that temptation quickly. Even though she knew that the Hyundai was fifty feet away, at most, she couldn't see through the thick fog that wrapped around them. If those murderous rapists that she and Daryl had encountered on their hunting trip were out there, she had no way of knowing.

Immediately after they'd come back from their hunting trip to their camp—though to call a circle of cars parked just off the highway a "camp" was a stretch—Daryl dragged her over to where Rick was cleaning his gun, alone. The others were either checking the makeshift alarms that surrounded them or tucking themselves into the cars, wrapped in thick coats and blankets, breathing puffs of white air even inside.

(According to Cassie, it was almost December. When the mornings started cold, the day stayed cold. They'd woken up a few times to a layer of ice on their windshields. It was those mornings that Anna wished she still had her credit cards.)

"How many?" Rick had asked wearily, glancing up from his loose gun parts.

Daryl'd said, "Fifteen. Probably more of 'em, though; their cars were empty."

If Rick was a more emotional man, he probably would've thrown his Python. He'd sighed and run a hand through his greasy hair. "You hear what they said?"

"Only some," Daryl'd said. It had been enough, frankly—enough filth to last a lifetime, but Anna wasn't so naïve as to believe she'd never hear worse. "They were packin' some serious heat and they weren't too friendly. 'S a bad combo."

Anna had scoffed at that. Rick and Daryl looked at her in surprise. "'Weren't too friendly,'" she'd sneered in a bitter mockery of his accent. "You always sugarcoat your words, Mr. Rogers?" Rick had shaken his head imperceptibly in Daryl's direction, warning him off of lunging at her.

Through gritted teeth, he'd restated, in a voice full of implications, "We wouldn't wanna run into 'em."

Instinctively, each of their eyes darted to their most vulnerable and most beloved. Anna's had flickered to Cassie, helping Hershel take Lori's pulse and blood pressure. Rick, to Carl, then Lori; Daryl, to Beth and Carol, and Lori's growing stomach.

Rubbing his chin, Rick had asked, "They went south?"

"Yeah."

"Then we'll go north," he'd declared. "Avoid them altogether."

They'd nodded gravely. They didn't always see eye to eye to eye—Daryl, Anna, and Rick— but as their guarded eyes met again over the hood of the Hyundai, they knew were in complete agreement. Their people came before their differences. They always would.

Then Rick had added, in a quieter voice, "Let's keep this to ourselves for now. Don't need to get everyone worked up over nothing."

Anna disagreed with him. By the look on Daryl's face, he hadn't agreed either. But she knew she couldn't rely on Daryl to speak against him; the man had his nose so far up Rick's ass, she often wondered how he could breathe. "Don't you think it'd be a good idea to give everyone a heads-up?" she asked slowly, full of scorn.

Rick either hadn't caught her derision or ignored it altogether as he shook his head. "No, we've got enough to worry about right now. Chances are: we won't run into them."

"Well, your plan is foolproof," Anna had said sardonically, narrowing her eyes at the man. No wonder his group paced around him, throwing him dirty looks when they thought he couldn't see them. How many other secrets was he keeping from them? How many did he keep from her?

_You're one to talk_, a soft voice whispered snidely, one that only she could hear. She ignored it.

He narrowed his eyes, his jaw locked. "This doesn't change anything. Our plans are the same: find somewhere safe to live. It ain't pertinent to those plans, so it doesn't need to be shared," he'd hissed.

He seemed surprised when she let the subject go with little more than a shrug and a grimace. But she saw that he wasn't going to budge, so she stopped arguing. Rick dismissed them then, with one last warning glare directed at Anna.

"Annie?" A small voice dispelled the memory of Rick's withering look. Then Cassie's face was luminous in the darkness of the cab, peeking over the front seat. Anna shifted onto her side to face the girl, her arms tightly pulled into her torso; to be as small as she felt.

"Yeah?"

"Can you braid my hair?" she whispered, patting down her mass of curling hair with no success. It sprang back up as soon as she lifted her hand.

She smiled up at Cassie, the only smile she had reserved, and sat up, crossing her legs under her thighs. "Sure," she agreed, patting the passenger's seat. Grinning, Cassie tumbled over the back of the seat and sat on her heels, facing the window.

"Thanks," she sighed, her shoulders slumping the moment Anna's hands tangled into her hair. Anna split her hair into two pieces, for two French braids. Cassie preferred two to one; she said it was more secure. Her sister had preferred two braids as well, so Anna had plenty of practice, though their hair was as different as night and day. Ruby'd had wavy blonde hair; Cassie had thick, dark hair in tight curls that grew like a bush. She often complained about how unmanageable it was, but Anna adored it. These days, they rarely found time to sit still. She cherished the time it took to do her hair.

Halfway down the first braid, Cassie spoke up, "I know we don't do the whole 'talking about our feelings' thing, but I just feel like I should apologize." She glanced down at her lap.

Anna's hands slowed for a second. "What?"

"You're mad at me," Cassie stated flatly, like it was a blatant fact. "I think it was because I asked Rick to teach me how to shoot."

Anna's heart clenched. "No," she said, shaking her head though Cassie couldn't see her. "No, that's not it. I'm not mad at you."

"You've just been so quiet—I mean, quieter than usual," Cassie amended quickly.

She tied off the end of her braid and gently tugged the bottom. Cassie put her chin over her shoulder and looked at her. "I'm _not_ mad at you," she said urgently. "I could never be mad at you."

"You've been mad at me before," Cassie said, a small smile creeping onto her face. "Remember Franklin?"

She didn't remember half the names of the places they'd been, but she did remember that small town in North Carolina _very _vividly. Anna had told Cassie to stay in the gas station they were holed up in while she ransacked the restaurant next door, but she sneaked out to a dozen biters. If Anna hadn't glanced out the window when she did, Cassie would've been killed. After the incident, Anna didn't scold the girl, but she'd been so shaken up that she couldn't trust herself to open her mouth around Cassie without unleashing her torrent of fears. They ended up not talking for ten days, not until they absolutely had to communicate again, when their canteens ran dry and they hadn't found a river in miles. Months on and she still didn't know why Cassie had disobeyed her.

But she hadn't been angry at her. She'd been terrified for her.

She asked, softly, "You thought I was mad at you?"

"You weren't?" she asked in a trembling voice.

"God, no," Anna snorted, smoothing the first braid down before starting on the other half of her hair. "No. I was…I was really scared."

Cassie tilted her head back a bit. "Why?"

As astute as she was, she didn't seem to realize that Anna would've lost the last thing she had in the world if she'd gotten bit. Cassie was the only person she had left. She didn't even have herself anymore.

"When…that biter was on you," she started, haltingly, unable to keep her body from shuddering at the memory. "I imagined it biting you and what would come after. How I'd have to…" she couldn't bring herself to finish that thought. "I couldn't stop thinking about it. For days, it just kept running through my brain; around and around and—and—"

Cassie turned around and put her hand on Anna's shaking one in comfort. "It's okay," she soothed.

Anna tugged her half-braided hank of hair to turn her back around, embarrassed that Cassie now knew the extent of her dysfunction. _It's what you get for telling her_, a snide voice sneered in her mind. _You're so desperate for her approval you'll tell her anything. _

"I was just… working through it," she settled on saying. "It was something I had to deal with and it would've been wrong of me to unload all of my worries on you."

Cassie gave no indication with the back of her head that let Anna know she understood. "But I didn't almost die this time," she stated as a question.

"Thank Christ…" she muttered before shaking her head. "No…this time, I was angry at myself."

"Why?"

She tied off the end of her braid and dropped her hands back into her lap. "I scared you."

"What?" Cassie apparently found her claim laughable. She sobered quickly at the solemn look she got when she turned to look at Anna. "I honestly don't know what you're talking about."

Anna averted her eyes away from Cassie's piercing gaze. "I know I get…intense sometimes, especially when we have shooting practice."

She blinked. "Oh. Well, yeah, you do." She shook her head. "But I'm not scared of _you_; I'm scared of disappointing you."

That threw Anna for a loop. Her entire life, she'd always been the one afraid of disappointing people. No one was afraid of disappointing her, though that was usually because they didn't even know who she was. She frowned. "You've never disappointed me."

"Really? Because I know I'm a terrible shot and I'm not getting any better."

She struggled to argue with that point. Cassie barely knew how to hold a gun. Actually, sometimes Anna felt less safe when Cassie was holding a gun as opposed to when she was weaponless. "You're…not terrible," she finally said lamely.

"I'm not as good as you think I can be," Cassie amended. "I'm not good with guns and I'm never going to be good with them. I've accepted that, but you seem to think I'm going to become a sharpshooter or something."

"I just want you to be the best you can be," Anna said to her hands in her lap. "And I want you to be safe."

"I know." She rolled her eyes. "I'm probably safer without a gun in my hand."

Sometimes, Cassie's acuity was frightening.

"Speaking of safe…" Anna said as casually as she could manage, figuring it was as good of a segue as any. "While I was out hunting yesterday, I saw a group of guys ransacking a couple of stores."

Her eyes widened. "What?" she asked, leaning forward while glancing out of the windshield, as if she could spot them through the haze. "You told Rick, right? Because he didn't say anything yesterday…"

Anna bit the inside of her bottom lip. "Rick's playing this one close to the vest," she tried to say as calmly as was possible in her disgust. She didn't agree with his decision to keep it from the group.

"Meaning…he told you not to tell anyone," Cassie stated slowly. Anna nodded and she sighed, exasperatedly. "Then, why'd you tell me?"

Anna blinked. "What?"

"He obviously trusted you not to tell anyone," she exclaimed. "And now you're telling me."

"He doesn't trust me at all," Anna argued. "He would've kept this to himself if I wasn't the one telling him."

She shrugged and her nonchalance frightened Anna. She'd become complacent in their time with the group, as Anna had become more and more wary. "He probably has a good reason for not telling us about them."

Anna stifled a laugh at that. Rick was no more capable of discerning threats than she was. "What?"

Cassie quirked her brow in that way she did when she was refraining from rolling her eyes. "I don't think he's keeping it from everyone out of malicious intent."

"You don't know that," Anna replied darkly. Cassie rolled her eyes.

She tried again, more seriously, "He gave me some bullshit about not wanting to worry everyone."

"He doesn't seem to think it's something to worry about."

"_I_ do," Anna argued.

"Yeah, but you worry about everything," Cassie countered. "And I know you're exhausted because of it."

"No." Anna shook her head vehemently. Cassie tried to turn every conversation about her sleeping patterns, or lack thereof, and she wasn't having it. Not now, when she was trying to keep her safe. "We're not talking about me. This is not the point of me telling you."

"But—"

"Cassie." Her mouth snapped shut. "I don't give a shit what Rick thinks. I'm telling you." She grabbed her by the shoulders, steering her gaze into hers. "I heard them talk. They're rapists and murderers and they'll rape and murder you if they get the chance. You're not gonna give them that chance."

She was defiant for only a moment more before her shoulders slumped in resignation. "What am I supposed to do?" Cassie asked, tremulously. "Now that I know?"

"You're going to be ready for anything," Anna replied, taking her hands off of her shoulders. "And if we run across them, we're not playing heroes. We're running."

"What?" Cassie's eyes widened. "And leave them all behind?"

"Yes."

She stared at her like she didn't know who she was. "We're a part of this group now, Annie," she said. "We have to stick together."

"That's a nice sentiment," Anna sneered. "But I'm not gonna get you killed just to make a point about the power of friendship. People can talk about how noble you are when you're dead but you'll never hear it, so what's the point?"

"You'd die for me, wouldn't you?" Cassie asked.

Anna recoiled at the question, though more at the uncertain waver in her voice. "Of course I would," she said vehemently and thought, _I'd do much more than die for you_.

She nodded and looked no more comforted by the thought. "I'd die for you, too," she said. "And I'd do it for them."

White hot rage bubbled up inside of her and she wasn't sure if it was jealousy or the mere thought of Cassie's death that caused it. "You're not dying for me or them."

"Isn't it better to die for someone than to die for no reason at all?"

"No, it's better to just _not_ die. And if you have the option of living, you're taking it, regardless of who dies."

"Annie—"

"Cassie, please. Just…promise me that you'll run."

She looked ready to argue until the sun came up, but she stopped at the sight of Anna's shaking hands. Then she sighed, mercifully ignoring her fear, and said, "I promise."

"Good."

They were silent for a long time. Anna didn't know what Cassie was thinking. She could guess; she was great at wildly speculating what people were thinking and plotting. Sneaking a glance at the girl, she saw the frown. _Troubled. She's angry with you for being so cold. Maybe she's just realized what a monster you are. A liar and a schemer._

She shook her head. As smart as she was, Cassie wasn't a mind reader. She didn't know the extent of Anna's lying and manipulation, because Anna was careful. Her web of deceit remained intact because she made sure no one could even test the strands. In that way, she was no better than Rick, who kept information from his group so that they wouldn't _worry_. It was cowardly, in Anna's opinion, lying to keep his people happy.

_Then you must be the cowardly fucking lion_.

Yes, she realized the irony in her judgment of Rick. How many lies had she told Cassie so that the girl would stay by her side? How many more would she tell before her web collapsed?

Anna wondered if she was seeing the aftermath of Rick's web of lies destroyed. It would explain the tension that pervaded the camp and why they argued at every turn. And rather than convincing her to come clean, the mistrust reaffirmed her concerns.

She had secrets and they would die with her.

Cassie yelped when a dark hand appeared out of the fog and rapped against the passenger's side window. Anna's hand instinctively jumped to her gun, but they both relaxed when T-Dog's face appeared. He tapped his wrist, then held up ten fingers and pointed towards where the Hyundai was parked.

_Meeting in ten minutes at the Hyundai. _She gave him an affirmative thumbs-up. He nodded and disappeared into the mist.

"Annie," Cassie said softly. Anna was afraid to hear what she had to say. "I know you just want me to be safe. I'm not angry with you."

And all the tension in her shoulders melted away. Cassie wasn't angry with her. By extension, she still wanted her by her side. How could she think that Cassie would hate her? Cassie was forgiving and sweet. Cassie redeemed her. Cassie was the only thing that Anna did remotely right by. And still, Anna could look her in the face, smile, and lie again.

"I know you're not."

Because Anna knew nothing and it's what kept her awake.

* * *

The walker in the corner of the bedroom wasn't a walker. It hadn't been in a long time, Daryl surmised as he pulled out his knife. When it caught sight of him approaching, it reached up with its only remaining limb and wheezed pathetically. With a grunt, he ended its groans for good.

Wiping his knife against a fallen curtain, he glanced around the room. He didn't know where its legs had gone, but they had to be somewhere in here. He didn't know how else it had gotten upstairs; not unless it dragged itself up the staircase with one broken arm.

"Clear," he called over his shoulder to Glenn and Maggie. When there was no answer, he rolled his eyes. He hoped they were actually clearing the rest of the cabin and not making out in the bathroom or something.

Of the cabins they'd cleared, which was only two, this one was the least desirable. The half a walker had bled all over the carpet and the stench of death was eye-watering. Maybe if they aired it out, it would be livable, but for now this cabin was low on the list of desirables.

He opened the closet door, slamming it shut when the smell came flooding out. Taking a deep breath and clapping his hand over his nose, he opened the door again. His lip curled at the sight.

_Found the legs_.

When Glenn walked in, he wrinkled his nose and declared, "It smells terrible in here," like Daryl had something to do with it.

"Put a walker in a house all summer; that's what happens," he replied, pointing to the mess in the closet and the bleeding corpse in the corner.

"Ugh," Glenn groaned, shaking his head. "But even with this cabin out of the picture, there are enough for everyone to sleep in their own beds."

Daryl thought that sounded like a terrible idea. When T-Dog mentioned this place—some "resort" on a lake with a bunch of cabins that he used to come to on church retreats—he'd been skeptical. So was Rick, but the rest of the group got excited at the thought of the place. Their own beds! If Rick had shot the idea down, Daryl was almost certain they'd have mutinied against him.

"We'll talk to Rick," he said diplomatically. In what kind of fucked up world was he a diplomat?

_In this one, I guess_.

When they all reconvened outside of the main lodge—the sign hoisted over the door proudly proclaimed the place to be _Harrison Lake's Resort and Marina_—where the cars were parked and those without guns sat, T-Dog was beaming.

"Yo, do I deliver, or do I _deliver_?" he crowed. "Running water, propane stoves, lakefront property. Y'all can just line up in an orderly fashion to shake my hand."

"No fences," Daryl stated flatly, because that fact alone should have been enough to throw a wrench into T-Dog's frankly obnoxious preening.

He did not falter in the slightest. It annoyed him.

"We've got a lake on two sides of us, at least," Rick said, shading his eyes as he inspected the water. Daryl followed his gaze. The corner of his mouth quirked up against his will when he saw Cassie and Carl standing on the bank, skipping rocks. Cassie was clearly hopeless at skipping stones, though, and when she shoved Carl, he was laughing so hard that he lost his balance and fell into the muddy soil.

His smile faded. It was nice to see the kids be kids, but he knew this place wasn't safe. A false sense of security was sometimes worse than being out in the open. When you're out in the open, at least you're on your guard.

"Jus' means we'll have to swim if a herd hits us from this side," Daryl said. "This place ain't any better than anywhere else we've been."

"Maybe we can make it better," Carol said softly. They looked at her, tucking her arms around herself. She pursed her lips. "We can't run forever."

Hershel stepped forward. "We don't need to figure out a long term solution right now," he agreed. "But we should stay here for a while—get cleaned up, sleep in actual beds; figure out how to be human again. We need some time to get our strength back, Rick."

Rick looked like he wanted to rub his face in weariness, but he couldn't because of the blood drenching his hands. When he suddenly walked away to prowl around the perimeter in silence, none of them were surprised. He needed time to think and nothing any of them said would affect his decision.

_Figure out how to be human again_. For some of their group, that wouldn't be so difficult. Glenn and Maggie fell into such easy banter with T-Dog that Daryl was simultaneously in awe and in envy of them. Hershel and Beth would have a harder time; they were still reeling from the events at the farm, though they bore their grief silently. It was the Grimes family that he was genuinely worried about, Rick especially. Rick was so far gone, and he didn't know if any measure of time could bring him back.

Daryl knew Cassie would enjoy the time settled down from the moment he stepped foot into the main lodge. A bookshelf filled with tomes on every subject under the sun would keep her entertained for hours. He'd checked out a few of the titles and nearly keeled over from the boredom they inspired, so he figured they'd be perfect for her.

As for Anna, he didn't really give a shit what she wanted or needed. She'd made it abundantly clear that she'd sell them all out in a heartbeat if it meant saving her skin or Cassie's, so he wasn't going to concern himself with her anymore. He glanced over at her, leaning against the cab of her truck with her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed on Rick's pacing form. She was so tensed up that her shoulders nearly touched her ears.

"Is anyone going to talk to him?" Carol whispered loudly.

"Be my guest," Daryl retorted, waving an arm in Rick's direction. She was hesitant to take his invitation, though, as he expected she'd be. Rick wouldn't hurt any of them, but he did look a little prone to biting someone at the moment.

"If anything, we'll stay for the night," Hershel said. "He's just deciding if we're going to try to make this work or not."

Glenn and Maggie stood at attention, a picture of youthful exuberance. "We'll start moving in, then," said Maggie, patting T-Dog on the arm to help them.

"Maybe we should wait for Rick," Lori said quietly. Daryl didn't know how she decided when she was going to play dutiful wife and when she was going to blame him for every horrible thing that had happened, but it seemed arbitrary. For now, she was supportive. In an hour, she might be combative. Maybe it was pregnancy hormones; either way, Daryl was glad he didn't have to deal with her 24/7 like Carol did. As far as he was concerned, the woman was a saint.

Thankfully, Rick came back then, before they could begin bickering in hushed whispers. His eyes were still glazed over in deep thought, but he had an answer for them.

"We're staying." There was a collective sigh of relief. He held up his hand as though they'd all started shouting their protests at him. "But for tonight, I want us all in the main lodge. We can figure out sleeping arrangements tomorrow."

"Sounds good," Glenn said. "Thanks, Rick."

Shaking his head, he said something so quietly that only Daryl, who standing right beside him, could hear his words. "Don't thank me yet."

* * *

The kids were particularly enthusiastic about finding the resort. A quick look around proved fruitful when Beth and Carl discovered two dozen deflated inner tubes in a storage shed. Even after Carol gently reminded them that inner tubing in the wintertime would be a very unpleasant experience, they were not disheartened.

Somehow, they must've gotten it into their heads that Harrison Lake's Resort and Marina could be their home for a long time; at least until the water warmed up enough to go swimming in the lake. Anna hoped Cassie realized that they wouldn't be here long.

Because as much as she hated to agree with Redneck Dixon, he was right. No fences meant that this place wasn't safe. In her opinion, they were wasting their time settling down here. But no one asked for her opinion, so she didn't bother giving it.

Still, she always welcomed an opportunity to see Cassie's radiant smile and she did so, often, in this new place. Though she'd been initially disappointed to hear that she wouldn't be sleeping in her own bed for at least another night, her disappointment fled the moment Glenn and Maggie unearthed a treasure trove of board games: Monopoly, Clue, a chess board missing its black queen and a few white pawns. Once the fire was built and dinner was warm in their stomachs, the youngest among them set out to play a game of Monopoly in its entirety.

Maggie asked Anna if she wanted in on the endeavor—very diplomatically, she acknowledged—but she backed off when Anna silently glared her down. So they set up the board on the threadbare carpet in front of the fireplace and gathered around—Maggie, Glenn, Beth, Carl, T-Dog, and Cassie—while the others watched, chuckling at how surprisingly horrible Cassie was at the game.

"Shut up, guys," she whined as Glenn wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.

"This is really embarrassing for you, dude," he said. "How many digits of pi did you say you knew?"

"Knowledge of pi doesn't seamlessly translate to Monopoly skill, Glenn," she snapped, and her prim tone was enough to send them into peals of laughter again. This was apparently not her intention, as she crossed her arms and pouted.

"If we were playing chess, I'd be kicking all of your asses," she muttered petulantly.

T-Dog chuckled and mussed her hair. "We know; it's why we ain't playin' it," he said with a smile. She returned it easily and dove back in, despite her ineptitude.

She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face. Cassie took herself very seriously, as most kids her age did, but she was so forgiving that it was easy to forget she wasn't even a teenager yet.

Anna fiddled with a clump of her damp hair. It had been a long time since she was this clean. There were a few working showers in the lodge, but they all agreed that only one person should shower at a time. It was currently Rick's turn—he'd volunteered to go last, nobly—though he'd been in there for fifteen minutes, which was ten minutes more than their allotted shower time. Anna suspected he was trying to drown himself in heavily stubbled angst.

Her clothes were deemed too dirty to wear until they'd been washed, though Carol's exact words were more along the lines of an uttered, "Dear _god_." She found herself unable to argue with that, so after her shower, she'd yanked on a large pair of men's jeans that she had to fasten around her waist with a belt, courtesy of the owner's wardrobe, along with a stretched out sports bra and an extra-large t-shirt that T-Dog lent to her. Then, when the game of Monopoly began, she took up position on the windowsill, far from the rest of them, but still close enough to hear their lighthearted banter.

Even Dour Daryl, who'd been fairly vocal in his disapproval of the place, was smiling. She admitted that he was much handsomer under the thick layers of dirt he usually wore. Though her judgment of his looks might have been slightly colored by his sudden lack of stench. Sometimes when she stood downwind of him, she could swear that his smell could strip the paint from their cars. She never voiced that opinion because she knew she wasn't a bed of roses either.

But now that he didn't smell like a dog that had rolled around in its own vomit, she was impressed. If he had even an iota of charm, he could've been a real lady killer.

She suppressed a sigh when she saw Hershel get up out of his armchair and make his way over to her. _Here we go_, she thought, and steeled her defenses.

"You look dead on your feet," he said, and without waiting for an invitation, he pulled up a chair and sat in it. To his credit, he didn't look supremely proud of himself after he said it, as anyone else might have for making a terrible pun. For that reason alone, he immediately jumped to the top of her list of 'Favorite Living People Not Named Cassandra Taylor.' (Previously holding the coveted top position was Beth, simply because they'd never said a single word to each other.)

She didn't reply. It wasn't a question, anyway. Unfortunately, he quickly realized his error and opened his mouth again.

"Why don't you go and get some rest? I haven't taken a watch shift in a while, but I'm sure I can handle it."

"I'm fine," she said shortly, hoping that a harsh reply would be enough to ward him off, like it was with his daughter.

Hershel looked at her for a very long time, his eyes probing but not critical. She hated it nonetheless.

"Are you having trouble sleeping?" he asked finally, only loudly enough for her to hear. She knew because she glanced around immediately after the words slipped out of his mouth, checking to make sure no one else heard. Not that anyone but Cassie would care, but she didn't need these people thinking she needed help.

Because she didn't.

She crossed her arms and pointedly glared anywhere but at him. He took this as an affirmation.

"I am a doctor," he said gently, as if that fact alone would make her break down in tears and divulge to him all of her troubles. She struggled to keep her eyes from rolling.

"I thought you were a vet," she said, nastily if she was being honest.

"It's a kind of doctor," he explained patiently.

_It's a kind of my foot up your ass, old man_. She didn't say this for several reasons; chiefest among them was because it made no sense. "Did Cassie talk to you?" she asked, glowering at the cheerful bedspread they'd pinned up to keep the firelight from shining out and attracting biters.

"No," he answered calmly. "Is she also worried about you?"

_Damn it_. He now fell behind T-Dog on her list, for nosing into her business. "She's a worrier," she said, faking a small smile. Pretending to be affable was something she had plenty of experience in; she would've been a shitty waitress if she was anything like herself.

He ignored her lame attempt at deflection. "You don't seem to be sleeping," he said.

She realized that she couldn't be as flippant with him as she could with the others. Glenn and Maggie were birds of a feather—an outrageous answer or an intense glare would frighten them away—while Daryl just got angry and stormed off.

She'd grown up with angry people._ She_ wasan angry person. Anger was easy to understand.

Hershel's patient concern was some other beast entirely.

She sighed. "It's not really your problem," she said softly.

"I suppose it isn't," he said. Then he chuckled and shook his head. "Maggie tells me that I'm a worrier, too."

_Oh, god. _She hoped he hadn't taken her faux amicability as a sincere invitation for more conversation. She made a noncommittal sound in her throat, her eyes never straying from the curtain.

He cleared his throat and leaned in to speak softly. "I know you don't have too much concern for your health, but you _need_ to sleep. If not for yourself, then for her," he said, glancing at a giggling Cassie. She didn't look; she didn't need to. "You're a strong young lady and, I'll admit, you've lasted longer on fumes than most of us would have. But sooner or later, you're gonna slip up. You're gonna be so tired that someone's gonna get hurt. And I know you don't want it to be her."

Anna finally looked at him head on. His warning sounded vaguely like a threat, but he didn't seem to mean it as one. For whatever reason, he seemed genuinely concerned about her. But he knew she wouldn't respond to his actual worry of her wellbeing, so he went for the one thing she truly valued: Cassie's safety. It was a low blow and she was surprised he of all people would play that card.

She blinked back sudden tears. "I can't sleep," she admitted in a whisper. "Whenever I close my eyes, I see my sister die; again and again and then I start to think, 'What if it happens to Cassie?'" She struggled to control her breathing as it quickly became hyperventilation. He rubbed soothing circles into her back, his eyes filled with empathy. She covered her mouth with an unsteady hand and asked, "Is there something you can do?"

He produced a small white bottle from his pocket. "I have some pills that will help you sleep. Now, they'll make you a little groggy," he quickly explained when she tensed up. "But someone will be on watch the whole time you're sleeping, so there's no need to worry."

"I don't know…" she trailed off, carefully angling her tearful face away from the rest of the group. They didn't need to see her cry.

He carefully shook two oval pills into his hand. They were tiny in his palm and she stared at them, fear in her eyes. "Just take one of these," he urged her and tipped his hand into hers. She cupped her palms together to hold them. "It'll help."

"Thank you," she said, wiping the damp off of her cheeks and taking a steadying breath. "You're not going to tell anyone about this, are you?" She laughed weakly. "It's kind of embarrassing."

He shook his head. "Of course not. But just so you know, no one here would judge you for grieving. We're all human here."

_Are they?_ She smiled weakly. "I have to use the bathroom," she informed him, clenching her hand around the pills so tightly that she began to feel powder.

With one final pat on her back, he let her by, carefully placing his body between the group and her. She was almost touched by his thoughtfulness.

In the bathroom, she opened her hand. Etched into the pills was a familiar name: _Xanax_. Crow had taken medication upon medication to keep himself slightly sane; none of them prescribed, of course. This must've been one of them. She stared at them with detached curiosity.

Then, without another thought, she tipped her hand. The pills plopped into the toilet, the sound so small that the flush almost deafened her by contrast.

_As if she'd take them, _she thought, shaking her head and examining her face in the mirror. Without her customary foundation of dirt, the bags under her eyes _did_ sort of take lives of their own. No wonder Hershel hadn't said anything about her sleeping habits until now.

She could've pushed him away or deflected him when he came worrying, but she didn't. Because if she had, he would've nodded and left her alone, and then gone to Rick with his observations. Then Rick would come to her—not worrying, but unyielding. Compared to Rick's cold wrath, Hershel's concern wasn't such a fearsome beast after all.

And while she had no trouble disobeying Rick, he was starting to realize the fact. Sooner or later, he would become the unstoppable force to her immovable object and she wanted to hold off on that as long as possible, because she wasn't as immovable as she would like to believe.

Perhaps she should have felt some shame for manipulating a man like Hershel, but he had tried it on her first. Maybe it was with the best intentions, but he'd done it all the same. So, she choked and cried and he melted like any good father would. Her own father wouldn't have soothed her as quickly as he did.

_What a kind man,_ she thought as she smiled grimly at the weary girl in the mirror. _How could he have ever thought he'd win?_

She cracked her neck lazily and blew out the candle. And when the dark settled in, she saw her sister die again and again, but this time she didn't cry.

* * *

**Thanks for reading/reviewing/favoriting/following! Sorry this took me so long and also sorry there isn't much Anna/Daryl interaction. It's coming, I promise.**

**Also, season finale?! I know it was, like, two weeks ago, but dude. What a cliffie. I can't believe we have to wait until October until we find out what the hell happens next. At least Game of Thrones is back.**

**I have questions for y'all to answer: (1) what are your thoughts on Anna? (2) what are your thoughts on Cassie? (3) what are your thoughts on their relationship? And favorite parts? Least favorite parts? Anything confusing? Lemme know what you think!**


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